


Blueskin

by Lang



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat slowly becomes Resuscitated Dove: Oh Please God Let It Live, Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Fractured Fairy Tale, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Lactation, M/M, Oral Sex, Pregnant Sex, References to attempted suicide, Teen Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, Violence, eventual Anal Sex, references to past noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 99,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lang/pseuds/Lang
Summary: Loki, former crown prince of Jotunheim, has had his fair share of misfortune. He became pregnant out of wedlock, was stripped of his name and title, and now his half-brothers demand he use the only thing he still has going for him -- his cunt -- to please a very prominent royal guest.Thor, heir to all the nine realms, is also not having a good day. He's been sent to Jotunheim to investigate the supposed death of its crown prince. But details on what happened to Prince Loptr are scarce, and the pregnant bedwarmer Thor's been given soon occupies all of his attention.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to [this kinkmeme prompt](https://thorkikinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1493.html?thread=13781#cmt13781), which really hit my id. It is very much a total idfic that grew plot and something of a world. To that end, it has little accuracy when it comes to anything, lots of drama, and no redeeming value beyond entertainment.

Helblindi pulled the sack from Loki’s head and manacled him to one end of Byleistr’s fireplace. Loki's free hand scrabbled for the now-familiar, heavy weight of his belly, to soothe the anxious little kicks within. His head throbbed from where Helblindi had struck him. He would have struck back, even without his magic, but his condition left him ungainly, his balance off.

“You didn’t need to blindfold me,” he managed. “I know where the citadel is, how to get in and out.”

He'd been living here not more than four months ago, though now no one wanted to admit it. Youths like Loki were not permitted entrance to any of the temple complex, not when their transgression was so obvious. 

“Who said it was to blind you?” said Helblindi. “Maybe we didn’t want father to know we’d decided to dirty the hall with the likes of you. With a bag over your head, you might be any knocked-up slattern.”

Any slattern, and not Prince Loptr the disgraced. He'd been stripped of his title and name when he permitted himself to be defiled. Humiliation at the reminder of this flooded Loki. Perhaps it was a mercy, unwittingly given, that they'd covered his eyes and bagged his head. Perhaps it would have been too shameful to bear, being openly paraded about the place he'd once called home. 

But more likely it was meant to be an additional indignity. Loki's brothers had always delighted in tormenting him. Even now, seeing him sprawled on the floor with the too-hot prickle of flames at his back made them grin at each other. Both were three times his size. Loki was the outlier, the half-Aesir cuckoo, small and lithe. Or he had been lithe, before he’d sullied himself. 

Laufey had been furious when the healers had told him why his stepson was retching in the mornings, why Loki's color had turned so vivid and his markings had paled to an ice blue so crystalline and fine that they were almost unnoticeable. There was only one explanation: Loki was with child. But chastity was a prized virtue on Jotunheim, expected of everyone and particularly of Loki. As the crown prince, he'd been sanctified in the temple shortly after his birth, trained in the religious law and piety expected of a priestly novice, and promised to a prince even greater than he. 

But his husband would not want used goods, Laufey had said. And Loki’s brothers, ever hating him for his status as the crown prince, had been delighted to see Loki stripped of his name and title. Now Loki could only marvel at how they remained united against him. Surely the fact that both were now competing for the same throne would make them hate each other as they'd always hated him, but no. Byleistr had laughed when Helblindi had forced Loki into the room. Now Helblindi laughed when Byleistr stretched out a foot and prodded Loki’s stomach with the toe of a boot. 

Loki tried to launch himself at him. He didn’t get very far with the manacles, but he tried. The little presence inside him hadn't meant to cause all this mess, and didn’t deserve to be toed. 

Helblindi and Byleistr laughed harder. They were cold, large echoes of each other, alike as twins, with the same huge features and flat faces. Loki wanted to rake his nails across their eye sockets. 

“What do you want?” he said instead. “Why did you bring me here? Who told you where to find me?”

Byleistr was the first to sober up. 

“Come, come now,” he said. “Nal sells everything else about you — why not your location? Besides. We told him we needed someone with your expertise.”

Nal, Laufey's illegitimate brother, had been at times kind to Loki. Had seen Loki running about the lower city, purchasing books on banned magic or furtively visiting the sorts of theater halls Laufey deemed dens of iniquity, and never once reported Loki for breaking temple law. So it was to Nal that Loki had run when Loki had found himself disgraced. But Nal was not charitable by nature. The most he had been willing to offer Loki was a job. The oldest profession on Jotunheim. 

_It’s a living,_ Loki had thought at the time, blinking back the tears of rage and shame. _And Nal is four times my size and will not take kindly to being insulted. And I have not the use of my seidr._

That had been the first thing to go, a change that predated even the morning sickness and the fading of his royal lines. The loss of it had made it impossible to hide those other changes, and had made him hate the little thing he carried at first. Before he'd been outed to Laufey he'd tried to visit an abortionist, and the less said about the pain and blood that had ensued, the better. The procedure had done little but scar up his thighs, anyway, and leave his cunt sore, and make him feeling horribly aware of his body in a way that would soon become too familiar over the coming months. 

For most of his life, Loki had properly ignored his body, particularly those dangerous corners of cock, cunt, and womb. He'd been raised blessedly pure of such sinful thoughts, as an esteemed temple novice. The most esteemed. He knew the laws of Ymir better than anyone, the punishments for sin and vice, and could recite them all on command, all seven thousand of them. He'd had the high and intensely boring honor of keeping the record books of all the temple trials, ceremonies meant to condemn those who lived lives of iniquity. 

His greatest assets, he'd always been told, were his magic, his mind, and his vaunted royal chastity.

Now he had no magic or chastity, and nevermind his mind. He did most of his work with hands or tongue. He'd managed to convince Nal that, as a runt, if Nal let the customers take him as they might any other whore, he might be seriously hurt and that would be a loss on Nal's investment in Loki. So no one was permitted to penetrate him unless it was with fingers or small, special toys. This meant that by now Loki's cunt had long recovered from the abortionist, and inside him flowered that little thing he had tried to halt, making itself known with hesitant kicks. 

At some point Loki had stopped hating it. Now that he was no longer the pet of the temple, was no longer honored and revered and surrounded by the jealous glances of the other novices, it was at least a companion. Loki had even begun putting money aside for it, for its education, for its rearing. For food. Ymir, the little thing would need food. So whatever did not go to Nal — and Nal demanded forty gold a week, which Loki was learning was a dear sum indeed — was set aside for the baby. 

_Aye, you're desperate to keep it,_ the other girls would say. _See? You love it now. That's always how it is._

 _Even with harlots,_ Nal would chuckle. _Well, if you don't keep it, it will only go to the temple like all the other unwanted, won't it?_

Loki did not want it to go the temple to serve the priests and novices, like any other foundling. So he supposed he'd have to keep it. Keep it and try to kept from being shoved about the way it and he were being shoved about. While the babe had survived worse, Loki thought he owed it to his child to try and be kinder to it now. He hunched in around his belly and looked up at his brothers, hedging for time. 

“Nal wouldn’t have given me to you,” he tried. His magic was all being poured into the babe, sustaining the babe, letting the little thing get drunk and powerful on it. But surely, surely the tiny one might give some back, if it felt him anxious as he was now? Sigyn at the brothel, who had been pregnant twice, said that once that had happened to her. Loki's mother, when she had lived, had once told Loki of the same possibility. So if he could find some way to distract his brothers, some way to make the child loose its hold on his power, then perhaps—

Helblindi and Byleistr came closer to the fireplace, their great legs making great strides as they regarded him, small and slim-legged and perversely rounded as only a defiled runt could be. 

“The witch Angrboda pays for my services once a fortnight,” Loki tried, making his voice confident. “I soothe her. She will be angry, when she cannot have my mouth—“

“The witch Angrboda won’t pay what we’ve paid,” Helblindi said flatly. “We need you for something. Someone.”

His red eyes raked the swell of Loki’s stomach and settled further down, in that furtive place between Loki’s legs. Loki felt his mouth go dry before fear and panic overwhelmed him. They could not mean — no. No. He was too small. Svadilfari had not been so much bigger than him, only nine feet, and yet the coupling had been horribly unpleasant, his length as great as Loki’s forearm and three times as thick. Loki had sobbed and sobbed and been unable to conceal his pain, for though he’d thought it a good idea at first, he hadn’t anticipated the dreadful roughness of the act. 

He didn’t want to know what it would be like with a properly sized giant. He struggled and shrieked without realizing it, pulling at the manacle and making Helblindi snarl. 

Byleistr crouched before him and slapped him across his face, arms, breasts until Loki stopped shrieking, curled away from the pain and tried to shield his belly. But he couldn't go far, not with the fireplace behind him. He felt his heart stuttering too fast in his chest and, beneath his hands, the answering fear of the babe inside him.

When he found his voice he said, “I can’t.”

It came out smaller than he meant it to. He didn’t know why they were doing this to him. They had already _won_. Loki could be no threat to their throne now.

Byleistr’s response was conversational, so casual as to almost sound kind despite his words. 

“Of course you can. You’ll get a thousand gold and Nal another thousand. We’re not so cruel that we’d make you do it for free. We’re proud of you, really, for finding your calling, you know.”

He reached out with the same hand he’d used to slap Loki and patted Loki’s hair. Loki found that this felt worse than the slaps. 

He had at least wanted Svadilfari, invited him in. Yes, he’d also then begged Svadilfari to stop, but it had not been a rape. Loki had liked him, was grateful to him. Svad had seemed heroic. So Loki had asked for the act, stupidly welcomed it as a chance to escape from the strictures of the temple, the loneliness of his position, and the cold promise of being married to a man not of his choosing. And his clientele at the brothel, he asked for that too, for it gave him shelter and food and medical care for the babe. 

But he was not asking for this. 

“Just think — you need the money for the baby,” said Helblindi, ignoring Loki’s hiccups. 

He did, for he didn’t want to have to raise the child in a brothel any more than he wanted to consign it to a life as a temple servant. But what good would one thousand gold do the child, what good would it do Loki, if his brothers had found a giant perverse enough to want to fuck a runt to death?

“I’m too small,” Loki managed, forcing his way past his horror and trying to find the space to reason, to beg if necessary. “ _Please_.”

“Too small for Prince Thor of Asgard?” Byleistr said. 

In answer to Loki’s shock he began to laugh again, loud and pleased. 

“We think not," Helblindi said, filling in where Byleistr was too merry to continue. "We think you’re the only whore we know who’s just the perfect size for Thor, little brother. Wasn't that why you were once supposed to marry him?”

-

By Thor's estimation, Jotunheim was a cold, barren, too-religious backwater. And the maidens were ugly. 

“Never could abide giantesses,” Thor was known to say, loudly and very often, all across the realms. 

Usually when he was in his cups, yes. But that was when all men were at their most truthful, wasn’t it? And this was true. He had no fondness for the huge giant women, their grotesque red eyes, their hairless heads, their tusks and tree trunk legs as long as his whole body. 

Sure, he hadn’t seen very many of them. Actually, in point of fact, he’d never seen one in person. But the illustrations in Asgardian history textbooks were not encouraging, and so while it fell to Thor to travel the realms and assure their allegiance to Asgard, he had never been to Jotunheim, not once, because the thought of bedding those creatures was not a pleasant one. 

And he _would_ have to bed one if he went to Jotunheim. It was tradition. Asgard ruled the nine realms, and so it was decreed that the blood of Odin must flower on every throne, a family tree stronger and stranger than Yggdrasil itself. Vanaheim was ruled by the illegitimate children of Thor’s grandfather, and Hel by Thor’s half-sister. Alfheim and Svartalfheim were led by yet more of Odin’s bastards, and Thor himself had sired a child on a princess of Muspelheim, to take the reigns of that realm when it was of age. For wherever a prince of Asgard traveled, it was his sovereign right to sow his oats. Indeed, it was something of an insult if he didn’t sow them. He was to be offered a bedwarmer, a partner to breed full of magical royal bastards, and it would be rude of him if he didn’t proceed straight to breeding with might and gusto. 

Thor had fucked giggling fire maidens and nearly burnt his prick off in the process. He’d fucked dark elves who insisted on wearing masks to bed. But he should be allowed to draw the line, he thought, at massive ice women with tusks and horns. Odin and Bor had already done that for the realms, anyway. Though Jotunheim had bowed only reluctantly to the sovereignty of Asgard, it had bowed. Bor had taken hideous Bestla to bed to make Odin and a few dozen giant sprogs. Odin had in turn taken his half-sister Farbauti to bed and sired a giant on her, a creature Thor had never met but that was certain to be the most hideous of Thor’s half-siblings, blue with ridges and markings, possibly horns. Thor had been raised blissfully estranged from the creature, but vaguely happy for its existence. To him it was like Hela, a distant relative who removed him from any responsibility for overseeing its realm. He never _needed_ to visit Jotunheim, for the blood of Odin already had deep roots there, and so he had never once bothered to go.

Now, however, he was learning quite a lot of facts to the contrary, quite a few facts he would have preferred not to know at all.

"Betrothed to me?" he said. "I thought you said it was a _boy_."

"I said no such thing," said his father. "Prince Loptr is — was — a very powerful mage, and such magic often manifests in more than one form at once."

This Thor could not parse. He could not parse, either, the little holograph image his father had passed him of a tiny child, dull blue with vivid whirling markings and a clump of black hair shaved into a single severe strip. The Jotunn prince a full century ago, long before the death of the queen had chilled relations between Jotunheim and its master realm. Queen Farbauti was in the image as well, or at least her great legs and torso were, and a single vast hand with a royal signet ring upon it. She had appended a note to the image: _we call him Loki, between him and I, so you see the name you wanted for him is in use after all. Laufey said it was common, but I do not care._

The child, it seemed, had also tried to write his name in Asgardian runes. He appeared to have given up after the first letter and replaced the rest with a drawing of a little green snake. 

Thor ignored these scrawls. Thor ignored the picture, too. He clung instead to the past tense. Perhaps it was cruel of him, but that past tense was his favorite thing in all the realms right now.

" _Was_ a powerful mage," he said. "So my betrothed is dead."

"That is what we have been told, but I cannot believe it until I know the truth of how it happened," Odin said severely. "The accounts are confused. Laufey has told us he fell ill, as his mother did. But our spies on the streets of Jotunheim say that the unofficial account is that the prince likely committed suicide."

"Suicide?" Thor said. Though he might have considered the act himself, for a spare second, if he had seriously been pressed into marriage with the creature, still he felt some pity. "What reason could he have to kill himself? And can't you just ask Heimdall what he saw happen to Loptr?"

Odin pursed his lips and shook his head. 

"Peace with the giants has been hard won, and one of the conditions for folding them into the realms as our vassal was that Heimdall would not profane their religious ceremonies with his gaze. Loptr was raised in the temple complex, away from Heimdall's sight. A reckless thing for me to agree to, perhaps, but it did credit to the child's magic and the fact that he is a direct descendant of both Bor and Bestla, and through them both the blood of Buri and Ymir. He was to be your partner, Thor. Remember that. If the giants have done away with him somehow, it is our duty to find the reason."

"Because he would have married me," Thor managed. "And when were you going to tell me that?" 

His father's answering look was sly. Odin raised a withered hand, trailing magnificent golden sleeves everywhere, and picked up a tafl piece from a side table. He regarded it carefully, single eye revealing nothing.

"We have never quite achieved perfect peace with the giants," he said mildly. "I have not helped things there, I'm afraid. I wanted you to grow and learn for yourself what treasures may come from Jotunheim, not to press it on you."

Thor stared down at the holograph again. The child was so small and slender, standing against his huge mother, that it seemed a great deal like puffery to try and sell him as a treasure.

"So now I must investigate what happened to my half-brother," he said, trying to wrap his mind around the order. 

"Yes," Odin said, placing the tafl piece back down just where it had been before. "And if he is truly gone you must replace him, and sire us another heir to Jotunheim. It has brought Laufey great pleasure to believe we shall let his two remaining sons take that throne, but from what I hear of them, such a thing would bring Asgard no pleasure at all."

-

This became clear the instant Thor met Byleistr and Helblindi. 

Laufey, for his part, was cold, ugly, and distant. He spoke a great deal of the seven religious ceremonies planned for the day, which Thor was expected to attend in order to pay his respects to the frost and venom of Ymir. His favorite topic of conversation was the proper veneration of the local clergy, witches and mages who used their magic to ensure that the general populace obeyed the precepts of the Jotnar temple. Laufey also had a perfect mania for _Ymir's Edda_ , the great holy book he happened to be rewriting with newer, better prose and clearer instructions for the giant populace.

"Our old ways of chastity and piety have been lost," he must have told Thor at least forty times that first day. "The lower giants have taken to vile, base acts: masturbation, nipple-kissing, anal buggery."

Thor was fond of all of those things, but kept his own counsel. Giants were famous prudes, and though he'd always believed that was by necessity, owing to how ugly they were, now he could see it had become a religion. But why should Thor care if the giants fetishized abstinence until marriage? This might mean fewer frost giants in the long run, and that could only be for the good.

No, it was the sniggers of Laufey's sons in the background which were unendurable.

" _As if Asgardians aren't the first to take it up the rump_ ," hissed one, though whether it was Byleistr or Helblindi Thor could not tell, for he could not tell them apart.

" _He forgot to mention incest_ ," hissed the other. " _How they enjoy incest._ "

Thor turned in the temple pew, ignoring the intonations of the priest and Laufey's own impassioned muttering additions to the sermon. He raised his hammer and regarded it thoughtfully, making the princes fall silent.

"Never saw it as a big deal," he said truthfully, for he was a god of Asgard, not a human of Midgard or a Jotnar monk, "if the relative is comely enough. This means you two need not fear my touch, I assure you."

He tossed his hammer from hand to hand. Byleistr and Helblindi's overlarge red eyes tracked it nervously.

Then the priest said something and all the Jotnar scrambled up and began keening, for some reason. Thor watched this happen like a desert nomad who had suddenly stumbled on the sea and found it full of lunatics screaming at him. When this was done, the giants scrambled back into place and Laufey said, a little censoriously, "Of course _you_ require a bedwarmer. We know our place, Asgardian. We will give you one. I cannot be made to procure it, for involving myself with such things would compromise my purity. But my sons have arranged with one of our lower orders to provide you with one."

He tap tapped his signet ring against the pew. It was the inverse of Farbauti’s ring. Hers was a raven soaring above a goat. This was a giant ugly goat stepping on a raven. 

Helblindi-or-Byleistr whispered, "And if Thor of Asgard does what he came here to do and manages to get a child on the bedwarmer, then of course we shall acknowledge it as heir."

Laufey smiled. Perhaps this was because the priest was now damning several kinds of carnal sins most vehemently. Perhaps not.

"If?" Thor said. "I am a god of fertility."

"Ah, but our maidens are so very pure. Perhaps even your sinful nature will not sully them," Laufey said, severe about it.

Thor raised an eyebrow. This appeared to be an insult and so he should answer it, for all that he had no interest in sullying giantesses. 

"I assure you, I will bed and breed whatever you put before me," he said. "I hardly have a choice."

"Nor do we, nor do we," put in Byleistr-or-Helblindi. "But perhaps a wager is in order, Prince Thor. You agree that you will bed the creature we offer you, as indeed you must, lest you risk war between our realms. And if you breed the bedwarmer, the creature you produce is to be our heir. But if you do not breed the bedwarmer, then we have the right to select our own heir."

"I _will_ breed it," Thor said. He distinctly remembered, after all, imagining that that fire maiden was going to burn his sperm right up, only to receive a cheerful letter nine months later informing him that sweet Prince Magni had been born at fifteen ounces and with the power to make it rain lava. He was simply suited to this sort of thing, whether he wanted to be or not. And, in all deference to the fire maiden, Magni had turned out to be a kindhearted child and a pleasure to visit, aside from all the rains of literal fire.

"But still," wheedled Byleistr-or-Helblindi. "What harm could a little wager do, if sworn on your honor as a Prince of Asgard?"

Identical faces made identical grins. Thor tossed his hammer once, twice, and decided that there was no harm in this, and in any case this was the sole bit of liveliness he'd experience all day. After this there were three more services to attend and then a hideous giantess to woo, and then after that an investigation to begin, under cover of touring the capitol city. A wager might at least introduce some fun into the proceedings.

-

He discovered his error only later that night, when he stumbled back to his room with his head ringing from all the religious shrieks and keens. He found the bedwarmer prepared for him already.

It was smaller than he'd thought it might be, and very young. Its markings were faint, not hideously ridged, and its hair fell in ink-dark curls which were quite pretty, really. Even its features were more delicate than Thor expected, those attractive cheekbones and that high brow. Its skin was also particularly striking, a glowing blue that was much more vivid than any shade Thor had ever before encountered. 

Of course, it was also bound to the bed, gagged, and very clearly already pregnant.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Loki's protests had faded. He really did need the money if he was to raise the babe far from the brothel, far from the temple. He didn't even want to have it here in Utgard, much less in a place where soon enough he'd have to push it gently out of the room and tell it to sleep in the kitchens because customers were calling. 

It would be nice, too, to be free of the customers. Some were kind — Angrboda was. She did not actually use his mouth or any of him. She was a kindly old widow uninterested in treating him like he was fallen and dirty, and she only wanted to talk to Loki. But she was a rare being. More often Nal sold him to pairs or threesomes who drunkenly bet between themselves that he couldn't swallow down their cocks, and who laughed when that proved true. Or to giants who liked the look of him stretched on their smallest fingers, who told him that they were preparing him, that when the baby finally came he'd be stretched so much he might never close up properly again. 

"Aye, they're doing us a favor," Nal would say carelessly, after nights like that. "You're too small as you are. But once the babe comes you'll be loose enough to take more in you, and then the real work begins."

As time went on Nal would expect more of him. Loki would have to offer more. But for now he could say that his cunt and rear were off limits for most things, say that and then make quiet plans to leave before Nal made good on his word. A thousand gold would nicely expedite these plans. With a thousand he might be able to pay a caravan heading up the great Snowpeak. There, there were towns that might take in a giant saddled with child out of wedlock, for far outside the capitol city the giants cared less about purity than Laufey's court and temple did. Loki could work there until his magic came back. 

So he would warm Prince Thor's bed gladly, never mind the humiliation of it. Thor hadn't wanted him for a spouse, once Loki had defiled himself. But evidently the prince of Asgard would still fuck him.

"He'd like you trussed and gagged," Helblindi told him gleefully, adding insult to injury. "He's been clear with his specifications. He doesn't like giants, he's said so all over the nine realms, so he'll take you from behind and pretend you're prettier than you are. He doesn't want a word from you while he does it, though, or he's likely to strike you with that hammer of his, and so much for your child then."

"So much for your silver tongue, your vaunted wit," Byleistr added. "He's heard of it, of your arrogance, tricks, and games. He wants no part of it. Instead you are to follow his orders to the letter, keeping quiet the whole time."

"Very quiet," said Helblindi. "We offered to sew your mouth shut for him if you spoke, actually."

"He might try to trick you into speaking just so he can see us do it," said Byleistr. "He's furious at you, and wants no reminders of what you took from him, who you used to be."

Thor's intended. Raised to be Thor's, forced into obedience for Thor. When Loki had been caught examining the little sheath that hid his cock as a child, why had he been lashed until his back bled? For Thor. For the sin he'd committed by playing with what was Thor's. When Loki had been found reading magical books that came from sinful places, places like wild Alfheim, perverse Vanaheim, why had he been forced to kneel on stones for hours? For Thor. Even his mother would say it, would tell him, _it will not be so much longer, your time in the temple. So you must try to be good for Thor, my love._

Thor was their father's chosen heir. Loki was only chosen to belong to Thor. Though it was wrong of Loki to hate this, though it was sinful and arrogant of him to wish to be more, he _did_ wish it. He'd dreamed his whole life of Thor arriving, finally, and Loki being strong enough and knowing enough magic to spit in his face, to wickedly say he would not, would never be Thor's.

But Thor did not come. Thor would not even do him that kindness. Thor was like their father, the great Allfather, cheerfully ignoring the fact of Loki's existence until it suited him. So Loki had waited and waited, Thor's in perpetuity, until he could not wait anymore. First he'd tried to free himself from Thor properly, nobly, by killing himself. Ymir said those who knew they could not be pure should remove themselves, and Loki had _tried_.

It had not stuck. It had, however, brought him Svadilfari. So then Loki had tried to rid himself of being Thor's a second way: sinfully and perversely. As he never should have done. He had allowed Svadilfari to romance him as a way of saying _you think you will have me, Asgard-prince, but you have never had me at all._

Little good that had done him. Thor would have him whether Loki liked it or not.

The gag they forced into his mouth had a ring for Thor's cock, though they stuffed that with a metal phallus until the prince should arrive. His arms they bound to the headboard of his former room, his legs to the footboard, leaving him on hands and knees. This made tears prick at his eyes, for somehow it was a greater indignity than the gag, being taken on his old bed, surrounded by his old things. But his brothers' servants seemed to pay this no mind. One did take the framed holograph of his mother away and Loki keened at this, for he wanted to be able to take that back with him. That was the one item he wished he could have been allowed to keep. All he had left of her was her old signet ring, hidden away in a rucksack back at the brothel. 

"Dirty thing. She won't want to watch you now," said the servant. And even Loki had to agree that she had a point, not that this made him feel better.

Then they left him in the cool dark to wait for Thor. His wrists and knees began to ache. He tried to settle back, but his bindings were too tight. He would not slump down and rest his weight on his belly, fearful that this might hurt the babe, so soon enough his hands and knees went numb. His budding breasts, hanging heavy below him, continued to discomfit him. At least at the brothel he could relieve the other girls by nursing their babies, and so relieve himself a bit too. But it had been hours since he'd felt the warm, tingly feeling of his milk coming out, and by now the weight and tender urgency in his chest was starting to turn to serious ache.

By the time the door banged open he had settled into an unhappy exhaustion. The noise startled him out of it, made him blink his eyes open. From here he could see only his old headboard, carved with intricate figures of Ymir, Bestla, and Bor. He heard a sharp intake of breath, footsteps about the bed as someone examined him. He did not know if it was Thor. His skin crawled with anxiety. Somehow, he was less afraid of what Thor would do than what Thor would say. The tales of Odin's favored son held him to be generally honorable, and he probably would not hurt the child, or so Loki hoped. But he might still wish to make clear that now Loki was worthless to him, _nithing_. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and awaited the inevitable cursing.

It came, but it was all-purpose cursing, not cursing specifically directed at Loki.

"Bestla's tits," came a guttural growl, with the trademark accent that marked the Allspeak. Then there was a great deal of rustling and stomping, then distant warmth. Thor had started a fire in the fireplace, thankfully far enough from the bed that the heat didn't bother Loki too much. After more rustling and cursing, Loki felt a weight climb onto the bed just beside him. It was a bed big enough for a giant child and therefore big indeed for Loki or an Aesir. It therefore took Thor a moment to climb up in front of Loki, stepping over the ropes that bound him to the headboard.

Then Loki learned a special, horrible thing. Thor was handsome. No. Thor was _glorious_. Thor was very like the heroes his old nurse used to speak of, with a great broad chest and strong arms, with powerful legs. His eyes were a peculiar, bizarre shade of blue, and his skin a color Loki had never seen before, golden and pale at once. But he was not displeasing to look at, Loki's once-betrothed. Perhaps he knew this. Perhaps he meant to taunt Loki with this, and this was why he stood staring down at Loki with such disquiet in his gaze.

"This is a mess," he informed Loki.

A mild criticism, compared to what Loki had been expecting. Loki nodded obediently. Thor crouched down, his fingers finding the gag. He fiddled with it for a few moments before dislodging the metal phallus. Loki could only drool in relief as Thor pulled it out and tossed it aside, for it had made his throat go numb. Then Thor unbuckled the gag entirely and Loki was left coughing, sputtering in its wake. The leather had cut into his lips.

"You don't talk," Thor said. He said it like a question, like, _you don't talk?_ , but Loki thought this was probably that strange regal accent of his, the Allspeak warping his delivery. Loki nodded obediently at this.

"But this isn't your idea," Thor said, again a question that Loki knew perfectly well was not a question. He nodded again. 

Thor sighed, like, though it was plainly _his_ idea to make Loki suffer so, this had not quite delivered the result he wanted. Then he was working on Loki's bindings, undoing the ropes that fixed him to the headboard. Loki watched this with wretched gratitude.

Everyone said Thor was noble. Thor would fuck him to show him his place, perhaps, but perhaps he would not be cruel about it. They'd just fuck, and Loki could take the money, and that would be that. 

When he freed Loki's arms, Loki couldn't help do his aching wrists a good turn by switching the weight of his front to his elbows. This left him very literally prostrate before Thor. Perhaps to reward him for this, Thor then began to free his legs.

"What shall I call you," he said, again like a question. Maybe this one really was a question. Loki had been stripped of his name, after all, and Thor could not expect to know his childhood nickname. And, for all his relief, Loki wasn't sure he wanted Thor to know it.

He hadn't asked to be promised to Thor. He hadn't asked to be born the royal runt, the little mage, the creature meant to faithfully and obediently unite their realms. Perhaps it had been wrong of him to despise Thor in particular and wish to thwart him, but Loki did not owe him everything, surely. He did not owe him his name. And in any case, Thor had told Helblindi and Byleistr Loki was not to speak.

"Forget what I call you," Thor decided, underscoring this. "What am to _do_ with you? Bedding you won't be any kind of chore, but it won't get us out of this mess, will it?"

That was the truth of it. Loki had ruined things, and so he nodded his agreement to show Thor he understood this. This was his mess, his folly, spreading his legs like a whore until he became a whore. And now Thor was cheated of his prize, and it had done Loki no good to cheat him. If this was the lesson Thor wanted him to learn, then he had learned it and learned it well. He steadied himself with a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushed himself up. The action seemed to surprise Thor. Loki blinked past his nervousness and offered him a shaky smile.

 _If he wants me to eat crow,_ he decided. _I shall eat it. I must, for that thousand gold._

His hands found his belly, traced the swell there, reminding him of what that gold could buy for them.

Then he cupped his breasts as Nal had taught him, fingers circling the long, puffy nipples. They still pained him, but he put the pain out of his mind. His gaze he dropped demurely as he licked his lips. This wasn't the first time he'd been told a customer wanted him quiet, and he knew by now how to make an invitation clear without words.

 _Have me,_ screamed his pose. _I am yours._

"It is the right of the sovereign to have a bedwarmer," was all Thor said in response. He said it in an annoyed way, like he was reciting something he had heard too many times. He had no enthusiasm for Loki, clearly, a fact that made Loki worry again. Loki kept cupping his sore breasts, trying to think of a way to make himself more appealing despite the circumstances. Thor kept speaking.

"It is the honor the sovereigns of Asgard do the nine realms," Thor said. "It's just such a treat. Such a favor, to breed them up. Except of course when they don't want you, and find ways to trick you out of it."

Loki wanted to cry. But little good that would do him, if Thor wanted to make this difficult. And obviously he did, obviously Loki's seduction would not do. Penitence, that was what Thor wanted. Clearly. Loki got back on his elbows and knees before the prince, bowed. His hands he put up in a supplicant's pose, a gesture of apology. 

_Please,_ he thought. _Let this do the trick. Let it be no worse than this. I can play the penitent and offer myself, and then be done with this._

"Alright, alright, fine," Thor said, like Loki was confusing and irritating him. "Yes, I know. I said I'd bed you, little Blueskin, and I will, so let's get that settled so I can find a way out of this muddle."


	3. Chapter 3

The only silver lining in the whole mess was the bedwarmer, for despite the ungainly swell of his stomach, he was plainly eager to please.

The little giant was at least in part a _he_. It had a cock, which Thor mistook for a clit until he played with it a bit, trying to clear his head and wring some pleasure for someone from this terrible situation. Then Thor nearly forgot how he'd been tricked, for to his surprise the more he gave the little giant pleasure, it the more the appendage flowered out from its sheath. Soon it was fully exposed, so long and so hard that the little bedwarmer keened when he touched it.

"You're a he," Thor decided then and there. Partly because Laufey had seemed to feel same-sex coupling was a high sin, so why not make this a high sin, then? 

His vivid blue bedwarmer raised no complaint at this. He seemed to raise no complaint at anything. A more obliging, good-natured thing Thor had never taken to bed, and certainly not for these ceremonial couplings. Thor had always taken it as understood that it was _his_ job to please in these instances. This sort of thing generally came with feasts at which the various vassal kings spoke proudly of the blessings granted upon them by Asgard, while their daughters looked appraisingly at Thor in a way that communicated, _I'll be the judge of how good at blessing he really is, won't I?_

But no such thing had happened here on Jotunheim. Indeed, while the Jotnar plainly had no interest in putting any of Odin's line on the throne, there the insult ended. They had delivered to Thor the loveliest giant he'd ever seen, and it was little wonder the creature had been bred already. He was young, likely barely out of boyhood, but his suitors must have been battering the door down. Thor felt some stirrings of pity for the husband who had lost a young bride to something as cold and political as this ritual, though — the fire maiden's husband had tried to burn his face off, before the other fire demons had dragged him away — and so he had to pause in stroking the little creature's cock.

Instead he traced a finger along the belly. This was the most appealing part of his partner, this huge swell, far along with a giant child, yet somehow pleasing for all that. But now Thor noticed how anxious the bedwarmer looked when he did this. He put his hand down.

If his little giant didn't want his belly touched, then Thor would endeavor not to agonize him like that. Although he still wondered about the father.

"Who will help you raise this little one?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He wasn't sure if the giant could speak or if he merely wouldn't, but it was clear that silence was the order of things for now.

In response, the giant looked away, purpling. Perhaps with shame for cuckolding the lord that was his husband. Thor could do nothing for that, unfortunately, except perhaps share in the shame a bit. He passed his hands over the creature's dark hair, trying to soothe him. 

"What would you like?" he tried. "A kiss?"

The giant nodded vigorously. He seemed to nod at most things, far more adventurous than Thor would have supposed any giant to be. Still, what he wanted he would get. Thor bent down and kissed him thoroughly, finding his mouth warmer than he'd thought it might be. The giant was an inexperienced kisser, and this saddened Thor, for perhaps the husband did not appreciate his prize. If Thor were married to such a pretty thing, he would kiss it often. Now he did, pressing kisses along the giant's neck, collarbones, to the place where his breasts swelled. He could feel the giant's fast, nervous heartbeat, and it gave him pause.

Thor pulled his head up and gazed into the red eyes.

"Do you like that?" he asked gently.

He could stop, if the giant did not. But his little giant nodded at him. He licked his thin lips, the blue-purple tongue a sweet secret Thor decided he would explore further later, if given the go-ahead. The giant's hands found his breasts again, and again he cupped them, offering them to Thor. Thor took a moment to admire the dusky nipples. When he pressed one between his fingers, the giant gave a small moan. It took Thor a moment to figure out why, a moment in which a pearl of white found its way out.

Little Blueskin was swollen with milk. Of course. Those veins along his breasts weren't heritage markings, as those were so pale as to be nonexistent, but were instead the marks of how full Thor's little giant was, how much his chest had stretched to make sustenance for his baby. 

"You need to be milked, little cow," Thor told him, keeping his tone light to show it was only a joke, and the giant nodded again, more urgently and desperately this time. Thor tugged at the nipple again and was rewarded with another moan. Though the giant still didn't make any demands, he'd begun to mouth something.

_Please_ , he mouthed, tears at the corners of his eyes.

"It pains you to be so full," Thor realized, and again the giant nodded and mouthed, _please_.

"Back on your hands and knees, then, my treasure," Thor decided, and the little giant swiftly complied. This left both his breasts and belly hanging below him, did leave him ready to be milked like a cow, and yet Thor had no sooner begun than he realized what a mess this made. The spray of milk came out all over his hands and the coverlet, and though the giant was sobbing with relief, Thor had to bring his fingers to his mouth to lick away the mess. 

He discovered the sweetest liquid he'd ever tasted, warm and spicy-sweet. Not cow's milk at all but something much, much finer. It almost made the trip to Jotunheim worth it, this taste. It was better than honey cakes, better than chocolate.

No, they wouldn't milk him like this. This wouldn't do.

"May I nurse you?" Thor asked, half-fearing that this would be the thing that turned his little lover off from the proceedings. It was hardly a normal request. But then this was hardly a normal situation. The little giant pushed himself back again and nodded, chin and mouth resolute, and so now when he presented his breasts Thor smiled with gratitude. He pulled his prize up so that the giant could rest his back against the headboard, with his narrow little rump cushioned by the pillows. Then Thor took one of the budding breasts in hand, squeezing it gently to get another moan. He bent his head and found the pretty teat, rolling it between his lips before sucking in earnest. In response, that wonderful flavor exploded into his mouth. How could the giants eat such horrible meals, all fish and ice, when their land made such flavors as this? How was this little creature not as revered as Ymir? Why had he been consigned to such a horrible trick, made to foil the prince of Asgard, when he could be feted as the loveliest and best of this land?

It did not seem to Thor that his little giant meant to trick Asgard out of an heir, that this giant was in on it. He wouldn't be so obliging and adventurous if that was the case. No, it was more likely that this was a giant of lesser caste who was helping the princes out of some sense of duty. Perhaps the little giant had simply no notion of what Thor was expected to produce here. In any case, it was bold of him to offer himself to a stranger in his condition. Thor was glad that they could find their pleasure together. Thor in the taste, little Blueskin in the evident relief of being milked like this, if the sounds he was making were to be any indication of his feelings in the matter. His moans made a satisfying backdrop as Thor suckled him dry, at least for this breast. Midway through his suckling, Thor's hand found his own cock and he stroked himself off easily. He let the sensations and taste and need build and build until he was coming, painting the round belly with white stripes. 

Then he had to pull off and apologize. This, this of all things seemed to shock, possibly upset his little giant. Thor could see it in the anguish that now crept in around his gaze.

"Sorry," Thor told him, running his fingers through that dark hair again. "Sorry, my little one. Here—" he reached for the green robe he'd found in the wardrobe, the too-tight one he'd shucked off when he'd realized his partner was both beautiful and willing, "—I'll clean it. Or shall you clean it?"

The long-fingered blue hands scrabbled for the robe, so evidently his little giant wanted to do it himself. Thor patted his hair again as he rubbed away the come on his belly, flushing a pretty purple all over as he did so.

"It will not happen again," Thor promised. "That's no place for my seed, I know."

He wished he could trace the stretch marks on the swollen belly, with reverence. Press kisses to the lovely roundness and tell the creature how singularly gorgeous it made him. Thor was a god of fertility, and he was discovering now that fertility delighted him. But the little giant had seemed clear about not wanting Thor's hands upon his child, and Thor would respect that.

And his little Blueskin plainly had no qualms about wanting Thor everywhere else, for now he was drawing back along the headboard and parting his legs to reveal that half-hard cock, and further back the glistening lips of his cunt. He parted the outer lips with two fingers, not a bit shy, and Thor felt his throat go dry.

Yes. _Yes_.

But not yet. There was another breast that needed his attentions. And when he crooked a finger at it the giant offered it to him again, obliging as anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update! There may be two bonus updates this week, as I really want to get to the fic's turning point by next Saturday or so.

Perhaps the cruelest thing Thor could do was milk him, offer him the relief only a husband should offer to his spouse, and so that was precisely what Thor did.

And he told Loki what Loki was to him. Not spouse. Little more than cow. The humiliation was almost too much to bear, and yet the aching alleviation sent electric thrills to Loki's cunny, which twitched and throbbed. It didn't know what was good for it, just as Loki had never known what was good for him. 

When Thor marked him and made him clean himself up with his own robe, Loki did so meekly. When Thor said, "that's no place for my seed," Loki knew to show him what was the place for it, what should have been Thor's. When Thor demanded his other breast, Loki gave it.

Never mind how wet and desperate this made him. The more Thor worked his breasts, calmed the horrible ache there, the more Loki ached further down. He could see the great jut of Thor's cock, hardening again. He wondered what it would be like inside him. It wasn't so big as Svadilfari's had been. It was a less frightening size, a size Loki might even be able to take into his mouth with some work. If Thor demanded more of him, and Thor surely would, then perhaps only the rear sex would really hurt. Thinking of how much it hurt when his customers forced their fingers in back there made his cunt stop twitching a bit. But Thor, clever and cruel at once, pressed his own fingers to that cunt. They were not so thick and coarse as giant fingers. They stroked along Loki's sex like they were opening him up, and perhaps they were, so that soon Loki was moaning again. When he felt dizzy with need they switched to stroking his cock, tormenting him there.

Loki never stroked his own cock. Even when he'd been bold enough to do other things, even he was not so sinful as to try that unholy act. His cock, he'd been told, belonged to his future spouse, and Thor now set about proving that. He coaxed it from its sheath and in Thor's golden presence the cock seemed to have no interest in leaving. It poked into Loki's belly, insistent and needy. Thor worked it as expertly as he'd worked his own, and it was all Loki could do not to cry. This could have been his, this grand and golden husband who thought frost giants so ugly but who could still treat Loki like Loki deserved pleasure. Like he might have treated Loki if only Loki had properly submitted to him. 

Thor was clever enough not to abuse him, not to tell him what a slattern he was. Thor was clever enough to do one better, and show Loki what Loki had traded for hardship in the brothel.

"What shall we do now, hmmm?" he asked Loki, when he'd drunk his fill from Loki's breasts. A rhetorical question, surely. Thor now examined Loki's belly, which he was plainly careful not to touch, treating the child like it was nothing more than shame. Loki hated that. That was the cruelest bit of this. It was not the babe's fault. He clutched at his stomach again, but this only made Thor's mouth grave.

"If you were not so heavy with child, I might put you on your back and suck you while you suck me," he informed Loki, making even clearer the life Loki would have had, had he respected Thor's right to him. Loki nodded at this. Thor could not be expected to bring pleasure to a whore, and had already done enough in the way of that. But Loki could do what was required of him. He reached out a hesitant hand to Thor's cock, pursing his lips. He was glad they could do this without that horrible gag, at least. 

It took some arranging, getting himself on his side to suck Thor off. Half on his side, so as to not put pressure on his belly. This left his legs in the wet spot made by the earlier spray of his milk, but was otherwise not too bad. And Thor did not seem to mind, as giants often did, that Loki could not take all of him down. Instead Loki wrapped his hands about the shaft and stroked it while he sucked at the head. Thor was thick, but not so thick that he choked Loki. He was warmer and saltier than a giant, the taste of him not so terrible as Loki was used to, and he was blessedly clean, as well. Loki sucked him gratefully, for it could have been worse, and in return Thor played with his hair and murmured encouragement to him. 

Generally, Loki did not like to swallow. He did not like to think of that going down into him, let alone to the baby, and so unless the customer had complained to Nal about it in the past, he would refuse to swallow when they came. But he didn't want to chance Thor's ire, didn't want to seem ungrateful for the double-edged kindness Thor was showing him. When Thor came with a groan he drank down the salty, not-unpleasant liquid. It was so hot compared to that of giants that he could feel it going down, and this should have frightened him but instead made his cunt twitch again. 

What would that feel like inside him? Would it be indisputable, that Thor was in him, had shot a load inside him? How long would it stay hot and pooled in Loki, evidence of his loose ways? And why did thinking of this make him even wetter than before?

Thor noticed, because of course he did. Loki's once-betrothed was not a stupid man, and when Loki was done bringing him off with his mouth, Thor’s hands parted his legs and Thor’s fingers found his cunt again. Thor’s touch was a light tease. His voice was similarly light, too light for the occasion. If Loki wanted to, he might listen to that voice and pretend they were really lovers. He didn’t want to. The truth might hurt then.

“You’ve made a mess of some of the pillows,” Thor chided, sounding fond. Loki really had, when Thor had been sucking away the ache in his breasts. “Are you very certain you want me in you now? It won’t hurt the babe?”

Loki had to hope it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t if Thor didn’t want it to, and he didn’t think Thor the sort of monster that would want it to. Still, he stayed quiet as Thor played with him, slicking one finger along his inner folds, letting it press into Loki’s core. He felt so wet and wanting it was like an illness, his whole cunt too hot and too empty. But this contrasted with the painful recollection of too many clumsy fingers, of Svadilfari’s brute weight on him, battering Loki's cunt and choking the breath out of Loki as he’d pounded into him. 

_You like that,_ he’d said, though Loki plainly hadn’t. 

Thor at least seemed determined not to let Loki suffer like that. He preferred to make Loki suffer through kindness, through the evidence of what Thor could offer and what Loki had foolishly bargained away. He shifted about until he was kneeling between Loki’s legs. His mouth found Loki’s cunny, tongue laving a strip along Loki’s folds that had him crying out. Then Thor moved up, licked the length of Loki’s cock as he crooked a finger inside him. Loki almost shrieked from the contrast, the warm feel of Thor’s mouth and the rough, insistent stretch of Thor’s fingers.

For a time, Thor was stretching him. Getting him used to one, then two, then three. Not cruelly. Gently. Still sucking down Loki's cock and making Loki sob with need. 

Perhaps he was still torturing Loki with kindness, with solicitude. Loki was glad. Suddenly he wanted to enter into that fantasy realm where he was more than a bedwarmer, where he had a life with this golden being. Because for the first time, Loki felt something in his cunt that wasn't sheer pain. It was a stretch like always, it rubbed his raw, sensitive walls. But there was more than that. Thor's fingers, so much smaller than those of a giant, scraped Loki gently from within and made Loki cry at the sensation of being pressed into. 

Thor almost ruined it. He tapped a free knuckle against the pucker of Loki’s ass. Then he pulled his mouth off of Loki’s cock long enough to say, “Won’t this be safer for the baby, you think?”

Loki stiffened, body going taut. Not there. Norns, please, not there. He hated taking anything there. It didn’t stretch so easily as his cunt did. Even Nal didn’t make him use it much. 

“Ah, perhaps not,” Thor said, subsiding as he realized that this cruelty wouldn’t send his message as clearly as kindness did. “Apologies, my sweet one. Your other hole, then, as it’s the one you prefer.”

Then he descended again, his golden hair tickling Loki’s belly as he sucked Loki down. His fingers had Loki good and stretched now, and he gathered up the drooling wetness around Loki’s mound and thighs and slathered it on his own cock, tugging himself to hardness again. The action was singularly, profoundly filthy somehow, for no giant would ever have rubbed themselves in bodily fluids. Thor pulled himself off Loki's cock again and said, “I don’t suppose you have lubricant, sweet thing?”

At Loki’s confused look, he said, “No, I suppose not. Not with how prudish you giants are. Except for you, Norns be blessed.”

Loki flushed with shame, hating how his cock gave a jolt at the insult. The next time Thor lowered his mouth to it, the warm touch of his tongue had Loki coming, desperate and dirty. Thor should not have swallowed it, but he did, voraciously, suckling Loki through the aftershocks as Loki wailed and fisted the pillows. 

Then he tried to line himself up with Loki’s cunt. He was a puzzled, handsome face above Loki for a few moments, plainly trying to determine how he was going to navigate the belly. Loki appreciated this bit of theater. It was good of Thor to pretend Loki didn’t already know how he wanted it. It was good of Thor to pretend they might do this face to face. 

But Loki knew what was expected of him. He got on hands and knees again, belly swaying beneath him, baring his holes to Thor. Thor stroked his cunt for an instant. Then he moved to grasp Loki’s hips and he was pushing inside. 

Loki could have sobbed with relief. For it was good still, it was better than Thor's fingers, for all that he'd expected it to be worse. Thor encountered little resistance from Loki's wet, played-upon little passage. There was the expected burn from how large he was and how much Loki had to stretch around his cock. But it swiftly became a burn that had Loki crying out as that hot thing dragged along his insides, splitting Loki and then leaving him horribly empty. Then again. Then again. Then again. 

It had been four months since Loki had been stripped of his name. Four months of other giants playing with him, prodding at him, humiliating him. Four months and a lifetime until now, until this moment when he realized acts like this could indeed feel good. Thor didn't rut into him so much as carve out a spot inside him Loki had never known could exist. His cockhead drove into Loki with purpose, teasing that spot, making Loki howl with abandon. He was howling Thor's name. He was howling for this prince, who took him on hands and knees, to show Loki his worth now.

"So you do speak," Thor said, panting.

A prickle of fear made its way into Loki's mind.

He was not to speak. Thor wanted him quiet. But he couldn't help the wails that were ripped from his lips every time Thor struck that spot inside him. He wanted to scream at himself, to berate himself for how helpless with pleasure Thor made him, and wasn't that Thor's aim? Not to curse Loki, as Laufey had done. But to make Loki do it to himself, for how stupid and sinful and arrogant Loki had been not to have just submitted to this.

He was still keyed up and wailing when Thor hit inside just right and left him shuddering, collapsing onto his elbows and screaming even louder than before. Thor rode him through the shocks and the pleasure, and then he was coming inside Loki. These were heavy hot spurts Loki did indeed feel pooling inside him, dripping down his legs as Thor pulled out. Loki clamped his legs together then and leaned back, wrapping himself about his belly as best he could, hoping Thor would forgive him for speaking despite Thor's commands to the contrary. 

"What's the matter?" Thor said, stroking Loki's hair again. "Wasn't it good?"

Loki nodded, not simply from obedience but because it was the truth. It was good. It was good and it was not to be his, and that was the genius of it.

Finally, Thor had come to him. Finally, now that Loki was too dirty and low to be honored with becoming Thor's. And he'd made Loki _want_ to be his, and that was a truly effective punishment.


	5. Chapter 5

Thor expected a peaceful night curled about his little giant, for Blueskin, as Thor had rather unimaginatively decided to call him, must have been as tired as Thor was. Thor spooned him from behind and was careful not to touch his belly. After the giant's breaths had evened off Thor himself nodded off, into a rest touched only by a hint of anxiety over what tomorrow would bring.

He woke to open sobs. His little giant was gone. But as Thor pushed up and pushed off the heavy coverlet, he spied a flash of blue in a corner of the room, behind a settee. This room, aside from the bed and a few other articles of furniture, was sized for its Aesir guest, and so Blueskin could not manage to hide here. Though why he should hide, Thor had no idea. Still, he cowered when he realized Thor had woken and come striding up to him.

"Easy," Thor told him, but then he saw what made him afraid. Blueskin had somehow realized that part of the wall paneling near the window could be removed, and several things had come tumbling out. Bits and baubles, mostly, of the sort a mage might find useful. Raven feathers, clear pieces of glass for working minor spells. But a few books, too, leather-bound and clearly valuable. A great cloak of inky black, so dark it was like holding a bit of night sky. Papers signed with a strangely familiar snake symbol. A letter with writing very like that of Odin's secretary: _you must do your duty and expand your mind, magic, and cunning, to better suit Thor's own strengths._

And a framed holograph. Thor did not quite recognize the massive woman in the image, but he did recognize her signet ring.

"You clever thing," he said, kneeling down and moving to take the holograph. Blueskin did not let him have it. 

"Have you any right to that image?" Thor chided.

Blueskin blinked at him. For one moment, Thor thought he'd said something wrong. There was a hint of despair in the giant's eyes, and Thor could not think why. These mage tools, that expensive cloak, the letters, the framed picture of Queen Farbauti. These things did not belong to Blueskin any more than they belonged to Thor, for it all made sense now. The room had not been sized for an Aesir guest. The room had been sized for its original inhabitant: Prince Loptr.

Blueskin uncurled his fingers from the frame with some difficulty. Thor took it. 

"Was she a good queen?" Thor asked gently. 

Blueskin nodded, and wiped away at the tears on his face. Thor supposed his own people would cry like that when Frigga died, for she too was a great queen. Though he did not know much about Farbauti, only that her death had made his father and stepmother grieve like this. And that when Thor had visited his mother on Midgard, even Jord had shed a few tears and said, "She was an impressive old hag. The best of us in some ways. Odd, to see her taken by illness. If Odin is wise he will call for the child now, and stop testing it in the shadows."

But Jord had always hated that it was her child who Odin had elevated to heir, so that was all Thor had believed to be at work there. He'd supposed his mother wanted Prince Loptr swapped for him, and Thor returned to her. Now, though, he wondered if Jord had surmised that Loptr was in some danger without his own mother.

Prince Loptr had not survived Farbauti by more than a decade. This made little sense, for the prince was young, barely into his majority, and though he was said to be small Asgard had never before heard that Loptr had been in poor health. Thor regarded the holograph of the queen carefully, but she gave him no answers. And little Blueskin was still shaking. Thor wound the black cloak around him, but then thought the better of it. All of this was potentially evidence that might lead him to understand what had happened to the Jotunn prince.

"Come back to bed where it's warm," Thor told his little giant. "But first, help me conceal this again. I think Prince Loptr didn't want others to find it. What do you think?"

Blueskin only offered Thor a confused, tired nod.

-

On Wednesdays, religious ceremonies on Jotunheim trickled down from seven per day to a very manageable one in the morning, swiftly followed by public trials, punishments, hangings and the like. Wednesday, Laufey had declared, was the most profane day in the calendar and therefore a day the Jotnar were to fear and despise, as Ymir meant them to. 

“It’s also my father’s day,” Thor growled, over his breakfast of fish. 

“Indeed,” Laufey noted. “How did you find the bedwarmer, incidentally?”

He had the same ugly bulging eyes his sons did, but Thor could swear that they twinkled now. Laufey was in on it. Of course Laufey was in on it. 

Thor resolved to make Thursday the most profane day in Laufey’s calendar, before he left this realm. He ground some errant fish bones between his teeth as he thought up a suitable response. 

“I have never taken so much pleasure from one of these encounters, and it is very like you had selected him to meet my exact tastes,” he said, quite truthfully. “Yes, I came to Jotunheim purely to do my one-night breeding duty, and to pay my respects with a month of mourning for the fallen prince, as is proper. But is there any reason I should not extend my breeding duty a bit? If I’m to be here for at least a month, after all.”

Laufey began to choke. Byleistr and Helblindi began to loudly protest. 

“You did not breed the creature! What are you playing at?”

“You cannot breed him! And in any case, you’ve lost the bet!”

“The bet did not specify a timeline,” Thor said icily, and enjoyed watching them all flush with rage. “I want him back in my bed tonight, and each night after. Oh, and I want his name.”

“Whores don’t have names,” Laufey snapped. 

Thor doubted his little Blueskin was a whore. Whores were on the whole more experienced, more casual when it came to things like kissing and penetration. And anyway actual giants convicted of whoring appeared to be ritually murdered. The calendar for today certainly had a great many disgusting punishments lined up, punishments that turned Thor's stomach for all that he knew they didn't concern him. 

That was giant business.

His business was finding a way out of this wager and investigating what had happened to Loptr. And perhaps learning Blueskin's name. He could get the name from Blueskin himself if he saw him again tonight. Blueskin did seem capable of speaking when he wanted to. Maybe Thor could press him for information on how the princes had contrived to put him in Thor's bed. Thor had a feeling he would need more information, if he was to find a way out of their damnable wager. 

“You understand what Asgard requires,” he said now, rising and picking up his hammer. “Enjoy your day of quiet prayer. I am off to pay my respects to Prince Loptr by appreciating your fine city.”

Only he couldn’t appreciate Utgard without first losing the spies very obviously following him from Lauufey's citadel. He also couldn’t appreciate it _after_ losing those spies, because losing them involved doubling back and taking so many unexpected turns and leaps over fish carts and stable walls that by the time he'd ditched the last one, he was himself hopelessly lost. 

Also, late to meet his contact, the spy for Asgard. He had no choice but to call for Heimdall under his breath. The gatekeeper's form appeared with an irritated shimmer that told Thor he’d seen the whole thing, especially the part where an agonized fish seller had tossed mackerels at Thor’s head. 

And actually, probably he’d seen more than that. He usually did. 

“Don’t worry. I cannot see inside the citadel, as it is part of the temple complex,” Heimdall said, by way of hello. “Nor do I wish to, after that night you spent with the fire maiden.”

“You could have looked away that time,” Thor stressed. 

It wasn’t like he'd wanted Heimdall to see him trying to put out his burning prick, all while Princess Tamina of Muspelheim complained that Thor was clearly the weakest of her cousins and couldn’t handle a bit of honest foreplay. 

“You didn’t see who I was with now?” he said. “His face, his form? He's small for a giant, only six feet or so, and a very vivid blue. You have no notion of who he might be?”

“He?” Heimdall said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you perhaps encountering some trouble with your royal breeding duty, my prince?”

Well, yes. But not for that reason. 

“He has both cock and cunt,” Thor clarified. 

“Ah. Like Prince Loptr,” Heimdall said, just like a royal employee determined to make Thor think of the important things. “And weren’t you supposed to be meeting our spy to discuss him ten minutes ago?”

Right. That was why Thor had called him — for directions. But though Heimdall good-naturedly led him down alleys and over more fish carts, past smithies and into a great, dank tavern called The Goat’s Tit, he couldn’t help but fixate less on his impending meeting with their spy and more on what Heimdall had just revealed. So that was what his father had meant, about the prince. 

That was how Loptr might have been. Like Blueskin. 

For the first time, Thor felt regret at never having paid this savage, horrible realm a visit. Never trying to get to know his half brother, his betrothed. Likely that was what his father had believed he might do eventually — visit Loptr, get to know Loptr. Perhaps Thor even might have liked him. 

Not so much as he liked Blueskin, obviously. Loptr could not possibly have had such vivid blue skin, or such a sweet moan. Certainly it tested the bounds of credulity to think that two frost giants, the testiest of all beings in the realms, would have such an agreeable nature. But still. Perhaps Thor could have liked him. 

“To your left,” Heimdall said now. “Table at the back. No, other left. Other back. That’s the bar. Now you’re walking into her—“

Then he winked out of Thor’s mind, for Thor had walked into her. Their spy was a giantess, a nun and former lady in waiting of Farbauti’s, and Thor was to know her by her slashed nun markings, plain temple ring, and goat brooch. He did know her by the last thing, for now it smacked him in the face. She was sitting, so it was level with his face. Otherwise it would have been far above him, for the giantess was just as he’d always imagined giantesses to be, legs like great oaks, arms as thick as Thor’s torso. 

Walking into her at least gave Thor a reason to apologize and offer to buy her drinks. And to think he had been planning to try and flirt as a cover. Only his friend Fandral could have flirted with this one and not feared that going further might result in grievous bodily harm. 

“An old Illi’s fizzy is my preferred drink,” the giantess said gruffly. "And you're late." 

“I was followed.”

“You didn’t anticipate that? Some prince you are.”

“I’m a living one,” Thor said. “Which puts me in a better position than your prince.”

This the giantess did not like. She hit the table with a great hand, making the tankards bounce. 

“That child had four times your wit and charm, or I’m not Jarnsaxa of the Cloth,” she snarled. “His cleverness knew no bounds, and his magic. It shone from inside him. No illness could fell him.”

“It felled his mother,” Thor pointed out. 

“If you think she died of illness, you’re a fool,” said Jarnsaxa of the Cloth. “She died in a spellworking, little golden-empty-head. Or did your father not tell you that? I suppose he didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to.”

This was new to Thor. And it reminded him of what Jord had said, when she’d heard of Farbauti’s death. 

“Why wouldn’t he want to believe it?” he demanded. “And what do you mean? What spellworking?”

“Why, one to protect the prince from attempts on his life, of course,” said Jarnsaxa with a wave, as though this made any sense. “Even though Laufey would never risk his own purity by killing his stepson in the temple complex, there was nothing to stop him once our little Loki came of age to finally leave that place. But we don’t know if the spell worked, on account of her dying in order to see it done.”

“Laufey wanted to kill him?” Thor said. “Did my father know this? And about the spellworking?”

“Your father didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to, as I said. Of all Odin's lovers, none adored him like Farbauti. None wanted him. Not his child, not to rule at his side, not to be named mother to his heir, but only his love. But your father does not give that — it would not do for a king of nine to give his heart. So instead he pushed her away. Her and Loptr's letters went unanswered, their pleas for his attention. He did not even send you, his heir, to come investigate Farbauti's suspicions. Not until it was too late, anyway.”

The small sliver of guilt Thor had felt over not visiting Loptr widened, became a full moon. 

“Do you think he was murdered or that it was suicide?” Thor demanded now. "If Laufey was waiting until the prince came of age, to get him outside the temple complex—"

"Aye, and our Loki just reached his majority," Jarnsaxa said, with a sigh. "A little less than six months ago. But I do not think it was only that which might have made Laufey act against him. Loki was a rapscallion, and _always_ sneaking outside the temple, soon as he discovered how. This is part of why his mother tried to protect him. As our Loki grew older, we could all see how mischievous he was. We worried his mischief might lead him to ill."

Thor frowned. He had not until now thought of Loptr as anything but a name, but now a picture formed. Now he seemed to see that little blue boy in the holograph creeping off as soon as it was taken, never minding the strictures and rules and savagery of his realm, purely to have some fun.

All while part of his family plotted to kill him. Poor little thing. 

"So murder is more likely, then?" Thor said.

Jarnsaxa shrugged, shoulders drawn tight and anxious.

“I do not know. And I have not told you everything. There is one more thing. One thing I wish I did not know, for if it came to anything, then it is perhaps the worst fate the child might have suffered."

"What?" Thor demanded. "You are speaking in riddles. Speak plain."

The giantess sighed. Her words came out with some difficulty, circling and circling around her point.

"Remember that this is Jotunheim, Prince Thor. When one is defiled, one might kill oneself, _or_ ones brothers and father might do it, to spare one the shame.”

“Defiled?” Thor said. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Nothing, I hope,” Jarnsaxa said. “But there are whispers that on one of his jaunts away from home, our Loki met another runt. Svadilfari. A runt on the bigger end for runts, who worked at a stable right outside the temple complex, just where the prince was likely to meet him. I would not put any stock in this rumor, only I cannot ignore that Svadilfari went missing from his job as soon as our Loki fell ill. I think we ought to look for him. He may be able to tell us what became of the prince.”

“Because he was — what? The prince’s lover?” Thor tried, head buzzing as he attempted to make sense of this. A giant of Laufey’s court taking a lover? As staid and prudish as they were? It made no sense. Still, if Loptr had done it Thor didn’t begrudge him that. Certainly Thor didn’t think he deserved to be killed over it. 

Never mind that that was precisely what the punishment seemed to be, here in Laufey's atrocious realm.

“It may be hard to track Svadilfari down but I’m good at tracking, particularly tracking something as distinctive as a runt,” Jarnsaxa said. 

This, damn Thor, made his mind wander again back to Blueskin. 

Just briefly. Just for a moment. And he wasn’t proud of it. Loptr deserved his undivided attention now, tragic thing that Loptr apparently was. But if Thor was to stay here for a month or more unraveling the secret of his death, and demanding Blueskin's presence each night to try and buy more time to get out of that wretched wager, then perhaps Thor ought to determine whether Blueskin wanted that. 

Did he go home to a husband that loved him? Would Thor be imposing on a loving home, a home already strained by the trick Laufey and his sons had played? Was Thor getting Blueskin in trouble, even? Thor had read a smattering of _Ymir's Edda_. Adulterers and those who offended the purity of their families were to be placed in spiked barrels and rolled for fifty leagues. That seemed excessive to Thor, significant in terms of potentially explaining the Jotunn prince's disappearance, and downright horrifying when he tried to think of it happening to Blueskin.

He explained the situation as best he could to Jarnsaxa. The giantess grew ice-blue and furious as he spoke. 

“You want me to track your bedwarmer because you fell prey to a stupid wager?” she demanded. “Rather than investigate what happened to our prince? Are you mad?”

“The bedwarmer is also distinctive,” Thor protested. “It will not take long. And I can look for Svadilfari in the meantime. I have need of a horse while I’m here, and I can visit each of the stables and find ways to ask about the attendants. If you give me a description of Svadilfari I might even find him. But I cannot have my little Blueskin’s life ruined for my folly.”

“Blueskin,” Jarnsaxa grunted. “Imaginative. Well. A spoiled prince making demands in a stable will not seem so strange, and you’re right that a six foot glowing cobalt dream swollen with child is not so common on Jotunheim that I might not find him in a day. But after I do this we focus on Loki, fool-Aesir.”

Thor frowned at the insult, but allowed it for now. He had greater insults to contend with, from Laufey and his sons, if their mischief in tricking Thor out of his Jotunn heir had extended to harming _Odin's_ Jotunn heir.

“It is done, then,” Thor said.

But he had a feeling that nothing was done yet, nothing at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second bonus update!

Of course there was no thousand gold, though Nal found the notion very funny.

"A thousand gold?" he screeched. "For _you_? Not even if you were unsullied. You really don't know the value of money, do you, spoiled thing? No, they gave me fifty, little fool, same as your regular rate, and forty of that is this week's fee for me."

This was just the thing to crown Loki's humiliation and shame, to be undone by a little lie like this. Once he'd been the liar, skilled at tricking his mother, nurse, and the temple priests in order to gain a bit of freedom. Now Helblindi and Byleistr had lied and delivered him back to the worst of his shackles, and he had to steady himself on Nal's desk to keep from screaming.

Fifty gold. He was worth fifty gold a turn. It was a high price, even, owing to his youth and how perversely satisfying people found his condition. He knew all this. Why did he keep forgetting it? 

"Sore, are you?" Nah said now. "He was a beast then, the Asgardian?"

He looked like he'd expected Thor to be, like he thought it was only fitting for Loki to be treated as such. Loki wished desperately for his magic. Once, he might have flayed Nal's skin from his form. He might have pulled out Nal's tongue and fed it to him. He had never done such awful things, but he'd had the imagination and the ability, and so some semblance of power. But now he was powerless, the little being in him kicking wildly at his bladder.

Hungry, probably. Loki was ravenous after that night he'd had. Hungry enough to take his remaining pay and try to splurge on a warm fish-cake from this morning's fish-carts, though when he backtracked to the street he found all the local carts upset, the fishmongers cursing.

So he went instead to the brothel kitchen, where Sigyn's children rolled about the floor playing soldiers. He put his head in his hands and cried a bit. The children were used to this from Loki and the girls, and did not stop in their play. Sigyn did bring him flatbread and warm tea, though, and this soothed his hunger some.

She rubbed his back as he ate.

"Hurts still?" she said.

She might have meant his back or his cunt or his feet or his tits. These days something always ached. Loki nodded.

"That grand old dame is in your room," Sigyn said. "Since she paid for you yesterday and you didn't come. Want me to tell her you're not up to it? Nal will be split, but let him be split, I say. No one should work after an all-night job."

She must mean Angrboda. This was the first good news Loki had heard all week, for Angrboda was the best of his regulars. Before she'd sold herself into marriage she'd been a nun, and so he could talk to her of the boring horrors of the temple and know she would understand as few others did. And after she'd been widowed she'd only wanted a child, she told Loki, but she could not make one, so it suited her to hire him and spoil him for an hour, even on her meager retirement salary.

_If I had more of a temple stipend, I'd pay for you to get out,_ she'd tell him. _Take you and the babe away. It would do you good to get out of the city, little Loki. I would take you to where I was raised in the Ironwood up on the Snowpeak, where it's cool and peaceful. You could raise your child beneath the stars and forest, in the little cottage I was raised in, beneath the ice falls. I would give you that if I could. But all I have to give is this, for now._

And she would pass him a few silver to stow away in his savings. And they wouldn't talk of Loki's work here, or what Loki had done to lead him to this place. He'd poured out all that to Angrboda the first night, a month after he had arrived at the brothel, for the first month had been a true misery. But now there was none of that. Instead they would talk utter nonsense, the way Loki used to talk with his nurse. They would speak of magic and stars, and names for the baby, and how happily it would giggle when Loki was raising it in the Ironwood, in a little house for the three of them with a little garden behind the ice falls. How Loki would work forest-spells to drive away dangers and how Angrboda would work earth-spells to bring them food. How free and good things would be.

Loki needed that now, to soothe the lump in his throat. To make him think less of Thor, golden and glorious and full of clever menace.

He had taken Loki's mother's picture. He hadn't even let Loki have that. Loki had no claim to it now, so Thor, after pretending to be so kind, had not let him have it. 

Loki wanted to tear at the shabby brothel walls. To beat his hands against the rotting wood of the stairs that led to his little room. To storm in and rip the drawers from the wardrobe, fling things about and shriek until his pain was sated. 

When he'd tried to kill himself, that one time, he had walked to the edge of the temple complex, where the docks were, and simply kept walking. Fallen into the black waters off the dock, and felt water fill his lungs. Felt how a force clamped down on his head, pushing him down further still, like it was the will of Ymir that Loki should die. He'd thrashed in pain then, desperate for air despite his intentions, thrashed and thrashed for long moments until he'd lost consciousness.

But he'd come to alive, on the docks, with Svadilfari looking over him. His disappointment had been as complete as it would be few months later when he left the abortionist, gasping and hurt but without what he'd paid for.

_You are the only reason I don't try anything so dangerous again,_ he thought now, at his belly. _The only reason. Were it not for you, I would try again, and I would be smarter about it this time._

When he reached his drafty room in the attics, Angrboda was knitting placidly by the triangular little window, large and lovely for all her advanced age. When she saw Loki's face she knew he was upset.

"What did he do?" she demanded. "Who did he sell you to, then, the beast?"

"My—"

But no. He could not say _betrothed_. He had lost that right; that was the point. He had lost everything, and Thor would not pay more than fifty gold for him. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, trying to think of anything but that fact.

_Once he would have had me for free, so I suppose it's good I forced him to pay something,_ he decided, and this was so funny that he laughed, and the laugh was so bleak that it turned into shrieking sobs. 

"Loki," Angrboda said, and held out her hands. "Come. It will be alright, you shall see."

He climbed into her massive lap, like he'd once climbed into his nurse's. She let him tell her the story, how Thor had decided to hurt him with kindness, the worst sort of hurt, far worse than Loki had thought he might face.

"He cannot be such a brute," Anrgboda said. "He cannot, our Loki."

"He wasn't a brute at all. That's the point," Loki said. His hands were shaking. Why were his hands shaking? Perhaps because it took so much effort to recount these things. He wanted to bury them, forget. He needed to. Thor had shown him a truth so painful it hurt to get it out now.

"If I hadn't been so stupid, 'Boda, I might have been perfectly happy being his. If I hadn't been so arrogant and sinful."

His thighs throbbed when he thought of Thor. His clumsy, sheathed cock roused itself, swelling a bit, making him wriggle. Thor had been an excellent lover, the sort Loki would have loved to spend a lifetime with and would now never have. In his place Loki would have far worse sorts.

"I have to get out of here," he told Angrboda desperately. "I cannot have this child here. I cannot give him or my brothers the satisfaction." 

It was dangerous to stay in Utgard, anyway. Nal's brothel was unlikely to be raided by the temple, for Nal had royal connections. But that didn't mean they couldn't take the child away. Whores' children were all deemed orphans under Ymir's laws, and orphans were meant to serve in the temple.

Angrboda nodded, making her splendid chins jiggle. She passed a finger over his shaking back.

"The caravans charge at least a five hundred for one passenger up the Snowpeak," she said gravely. "Particularly if you're going as high up as the Ironwood, for few ever go up that far. Even with my savings and yours pooled, we do not have the money, so perhaps I need to find another way to send you up to the Ironwod. Or you might try crossing the ocean, but I'm loathe to send you to the giants of the West. You'll be free of the laws of the temple there, our Loki, but only because there are no laws in the West. And that's no place for the child either."

Loki was inclined to agree with her. That had been Svadilfari's dream, to go West. At the time Loki had thought him heroic and romantic. But by now anything connected to Svadilfari had lost its luster.

Angrboda bit her large fleshy lip. Crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. Loki scaled her like he used to scale his nurse, though it was more difficult now, with his belly. Still, within moments he was able to clasp her great face in his hands.

"What is it?" he said. "Has something else occurred to you?"

"I visit you because it does you good to have comfort, and does me good to know you're well," said the ancient giantess. "But if I stayed away, I could save money faster. Just for a bit. Could you bear that, my child? I would not spend so much, and instead I could use the time to try and find us a way out of the city, get you far away from here."

Loki swallowed hard.

Truthfully, he might not be able to bear it. Angrboda was one of his only friends. Not simply now, but one of his only friends ever. Loki did not make friends easily and never had, for he'd been held apart from all the other novices at the temple and forced to be smarter, better, more cunning. More holy and chaste. He'd even stupidly believed himself better, and that didn't endear one to people.

For a moment, he wondered if this was a ruse, if Angrboda simply no longer wanted to spend on him. Why should she? Loki offered her nothing. He was breathing so hard his fingers were claws on Angrboda's collar, and Angrboda detached them gently.

"If I could bring you to my little room in the rookery, I would," she told him. "But it's only former nuns and priests they let in there, and they'd know you besides, child. Know you like I knew you the moment I saw your little face in this window, for the prince you are, our Loki."

But he was a prince no longer, and never, ever had he felt that so keenly until now.

"I will die if I do not have you at least to talk to," he admitted. "The despair will kill me, 'Boda. I am lonely enough as it is, and it is worse now, now that I know what I might have had."

"What if Thor was not being kind to hurt you?" Angrboda proposed. "What if he was being kind to be kind, and things are not so dire as you think?"

Loki could not permit himself to consider this. If Thor was truly good, truly as gracious and loving as he'd been playacting at, then Loki had lost far, far more than he'd ever thought possible.

"If he just supposed me to be a whore, you mean?" he said, with a bitter little laugh, entertaining this mad thought. "Then I hope he never finds out the truth. I hope he never realizes that it's me, and that I've become this wretched."

He still had a little pride left. And as that was all he had, he didn't want it destroyed along with his name. 

-

He fell asleep on Angrboda's lap, and woke later in the day to a pounding on his door. Angrboda had gone, but before she had done that she’d lifted Loki onto the pallet on the floor that doubled as his bed now. A passable witch, she must have charmed the room to keep him undisturbed, for hours seemed to have passed and now the pale violet of Jotunheim’s morning sky had deepened to the heavy fuschia of the afternoon. Soon it would be pitch black out, and time to work again. 

Angrboda or Sigyn, certainly one of the two, had left him more tea and flatbread. He jammed the bread into his mouth and let the pounding go on another few minutes. Likely it was Nal, with prospective customers. Loki felt better for having slept but wasn’t sure he wanted customers for today. He’d paid Nal for the week anyway. Perhaps he should let them knock away and take whatever punishment Nal wanted to give him. 

But Nal could be very creative when it came to punishments. He had no true stomach for violence, he never slapped or hit the way Loki’s brothers or the temple priests liked to. But he could spot those who liked to use violence to have their way, and those who liked worse — who enjoyed casual degradation. He could send those Loki’s way if he wanted to. Loki was not sure he could stomach that. 

So Loki stood and lurched to the door. Nal wasn’t there. Helblindi and Byleistr were. Taken together they dwarfed every drafty angle of the room.

“What did you do to him?” Helblindi hissed. “Sorcery? I thought you didn’t have your magic anymore.”

“More than sorcery,” growled Byleistr. “You’ve made him intolerable, this prince of Asgard. You told him everything, didn’t you?”

Loki backed away, confused. 

“I did as you bid! I slept with him, for all that he hasn’t paid me what you said he would. And I was quiet like he wanted.”

Mostly. But now Helblindi and Byleistr were looking between themselves, with those flatly malicious looks that communicated thoughts only they could parse. 

“He is still angry,” Loki guessed. Why would they be here if he’d placated Thor just as he’d been meant to? But he’d tried. He’d been good. Good for Thor, never mind how much it humiliated him to be so.

Again his brothers traded a look. 

“He didn’t pay for you at all,” Byleistr said, after a few minutes. “We had to cover your fee. You ought to thank us for it, hadn’t you?”

“Thank you,” Loki said stiffly, though his heart howled and shrieked at him. Thor had paid nothing. Thor thought him worth nothing. That was the final lesson of the day, just in case Loki had not yet absorbed how very worthless he was. 

"Don’t thank us with your words, little snake,” Helblindi told him now. “Thank us with information. What did you do to make the Asgard-prince so...angry with you? Tell us everything.”

Stammering, Loki did. He told them how Thor had only asked for him bound and gagged so he could free Loki, so he could show Loki that kindness was crueler. That Thor had found ways to sprinkle the kindness with reminders of his station — forcing Loki to clean the smeared come on his belly, joking that Loki was not the prude Thor wanted, not a proper giant at all. 

“He asked for my rear, too,” Loki admitted. He swallowed hard. “I must not have been as enthusiastic as he wanted, for he didn’t press it.”

“You didn’t think to _offer_ it?” Byleistr said, tone silky as he looked from Helblindi to Loki. “Silly slut. Why not? What makes you so good that he isn’t entitled to it?”

Nothing. Nothing made him worth that. But Loki couldn’t bring himself to say so, even now. Instead he backtracked to the window as his brothers advanced. He put a hand on the frame as if this were only a casual conversation, as if they didn’t have him in a corner. 

“What is the purpose of this visit?” Loki said. “What do you want from me?”

Byleistr looked at Helblindi. Helblindi looked at Byleistr. 

“You have completely ruined things with Prince Thor,” said Byleistr. “Thinking yourself too good for him, like always. Not letting him have what he wanted.”

“You were right, of course. He did want to punish you with kindness,” said Helblindi. “But did you deserve that kindness? Did you give him everything he has a right to? He knows he was cheated, and now he demands to have you every night. Every night until you get it right.”

“What?” Loki said, aghast. The babe kicked at him, as though feeling his cresting horror and pain. 

“I’m sure you did much more wrong than just not offer him every hole,” said Helblindi. “Thor was clear that you didn’t do enough last night to justify his generosity of spirit. And now we have to cover your fee again, and it is rather a lot to ask of us.”

“I spoke,” Loki admitted. “I called his name. I shouldn’t have.”

“Ah, there we are,” said Byleistr. “Well. I think Thor is right, then. He should have you for free. We should. You will have to cover whatever the cost is with Nal yourself, for your stupidity.”

“I don’t have the money,” Loki said. “My savings don’t cover a month’s fee. And—“

Now the old mad rage was rising in him again. He couldn’t beat it back. For all that had happened, a small part of him felt — no, knew — that this was not fair. That he didn’t deserve this.

At the very least the child didn’t. 

“—why should I pay for him to use me?” he cried out. “I’m a criminal, yes. A whore. But not a slave.”

Byleistr reached out a massive hand and took his chin, forced Loki to look at him. 

“As far as Thor is concerned, you’re all of it,” he said slowly. “Whore, slave, criminal, _nothing_. Here are Thor’s rules: you are not to give any indication you were once Prince Loptr. You are not to give any indication you were once anything. You are a nameless slut lucky to be blessed with his attentions. He will treat you kindly, perhaps, but in return you are to silently adore him, never once letting on that you were promised to him, never once speaking your name or anything about your identity, fully accepting what you are now, understand? No matter what he says or does.”

Loki nodded. Byleistr made him nod. 

“As far as Thor is concerned, what are you?” Helblindi repeated. 

“Nothing,” Loki said, through his tears. “Nothing.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some extra warnings for this chapter! I've posted them at the end.

Thor did not find anything like what Jarnsaxa had described, a nine foot runt with markings like interlocking horseshoes, in any of the stables he canvassed. He didn't even find a suitable horse, for the giants were more likely to ride massive bears and ice-dinosaurs. He did return to Laufey's citadel exhausted, and concerned that Laufey would not obey his order to produce Blueskin. 

He needn’t have worried over that. Blueskin was waiting for him in his chambers. He was as naked as he'd been before, all his lovely color on display, but he'd foregone the gag and the ropes tonight. He instead crouched with his back to Thor on the end of the bed. When Thor entered, he glanced over his shoulder. Thor was treated to the lovely picture of how his dark hair framed his profile.

Then he shifted onto his elbows, offering up his narrow rear and the purple-blue flower of his cunt.

 _Right to business,_ Thor thought, with a pang. He'd liked Blueskin's agreeability the night before, but this was a touch too far. Thor still had no idea why the little giant had agreed to be his bedwarmer, and whether a month-long arrangement was even what Blueskin wanted. Was he being ripped away from someone who loved him, the father of that child in his belly? Was he somehow exempt from temple law, despite the giants' views on adultery? And what was his relation to Laufey's court? _Did_ he know he was part of a trick played on Thor? 

"Easy, little one," Thor said, passing a hand over the lithe cobalt thighs. "We have all night for that, if you wish it. I thought first we could talk."

Blueskin shuddered. He turned on the bed and shook his head vigorously at Thor, ever a puzzle.

"No?" Thor said. "No talking?"

Again Blueskin shook his head.

At least they had moved from constant yeses to a _no_. Perhaps this was progress, the little giant asserting himself. Or perhaps this was somehow part of the princes' trick. Thor thought for a moment, then said, "Well, then, what would you like to do?"

To this, Blueskin only gestured at himself. This was very much what Thor still wanted to do, for Blueskin remained beautiful. And he clearly had none of the hang-ups of his race. But even if Thor were completely at ease with bedding him a second time, now Thor found that _Thor_ had hang-ups. Not simply concerns about the princes and their wager and why Blueskin was a part of it. There were practical concerns, too. Thor had spent all day dodging fish and quaffing ale and stomping around stables. Even he knew how rank he smelled. 

"I must take a bath first," he said. "I don't suppose you'd mind attending to me?"

A bath together might relax Blueskin, coax the creature into becoming more comfortable. Perhaps loosen his tongue. Though Thor hadn't been attended in the bath since he was seven or so, and that had been when he'd newly arrived on Asgard from his mother's realm. He'd screamed at the attendants, for he'd wanted his mother. But Blueskin jumped to his feet at this suggestion, coming forward and taking Thor's hand, then leading him to what Thor had mistaken for a screen in the corner of the room.

It wasn't a screen. It was a cleverly-hidden passage to an adjacent bathing room, and someone must have told Blueskin it was there for Thor would not have known it without Blueskin's keen help. Blueskin obediently stepped up to a great clear bowl in the center of the room, large enough for a full-size giant, and began running the taps. Thor left him to this as he seemed to know how to work them. For his part, he located the toilet gratefully. He'd been traveling to the hall toilet, which was a good league away by how non-giants measured distance, ever since he'd arrived here. 

He had his prick out and was pissing, whistling a bit, when he realized that Blueskin had come to kneel on the cold tile next to him. 

"Er," Thor said.

Blueskin was a pretty picture. A divine one, if Thor was being honest. From above, the swells of his breasts and stomach were even more prominent, and Thor could pick out the delicate slope of his cheekbones, the lovely length of his lashes. But only a fool would think this was agreeability and not instead full-on subservience.

"Can I help you?" Thor tried, still pissing and rather wishing he wasn't. 

In response, Blueskin crawled to him. Thor was mechanically shaking off his prick when the long-fingered blue hands removed his hands, then closed on his length. When Blueskin put his mouth to the tip, Thor couldn't help but groan.

Subservient he might be, but Blueskin was clearly a master at seduction. Thor could feel himself hardening on that purple-blue tongue. If he were a better man he'd stop this, but Blueskin's mouth was too good.

"It isn't too dirty for you?" Thor managed. 

Blueskin shook his head, not once breaking eye contact. With his mouth he was a talented creature. He knew to suckle Thor's cockhead and swirl his tongue about it just the way Thor liked. His hands played with Thor's testicles, gently like he could tell their sensitivity. He pulled off and licked up the length, then tongue met fingers at Thor's balls. The balls he ended up taking into his mouth, sucking them messily as Thor’s precome made a mess of his thin blue cheeks. 

That drooling slick of white on blue broke Thor's control. Thor found his fingers tangled in Blueskin's dark hair as he let the little giant play with him, vivid purple tongue tracing his length, vivid blue lips latching on where they could.

Perhaps this was the reason the giants were so backwards and fearful of sex. Perhaps it was because they were capable of _this_. When Thor came, even he felt unseemly. When Thor had asked for Blueskin again, it wasn't to make the little creature drink down piss-tinged come and bury his face in Thor's pubic hair.

"Are you done?" Thor managed, when the act was through. 

Blueskin flushed. He bowed before Thor. Literally bowed, forehead to the tile. 

Thor's unease returned.

 _Whores don't have names_ , Laufey had said. 

Maybe that was why Thor's mind had so swiftly named this creature. Because Thor didn't want to be the sort of man who made a whore of someone so cowed. Because when Thor now said, "my giant, can we please talk?" actual _fear_ flashed across Blueskin's face.

Thor felt a corresponding fear, just a pinprick of it, but enough to make him regret letting Blueskin swallow him down.

 _He's not in on the trick,_ Thor decided. _At least, not willingly._

If Thor were wise, he'd send him away. Better to send him away than to make him so fearful. But then, what if the fear was that Thor might send him away? What if some threat awaited Blueskin, should he fail to please Thor? Threats and cruelty seemed to be the order of things in this realm.

"You must tell me what you are, who you are," Thor said, trying to make this as gentle a request as he could.

Blueskin shook his head again, chin resolute. Now Thor could see how tears pricked at his eyes. He gestured at the tub almost desperately, like he hoped this could distract Thor. It was full to a good two and a half feet now, enough to bathe in. 

"Would _you_ like a bath?" Thor tried, at a loss for what else to do or say. "Is that it?"

Blueskin sprang to his feet and, head still bowed, made his way to the little stepladder by the tub.

 _It does not matter what I say or what I ask him_ , Thor realized. _He takes all my asks as an order._

Thor was a fool. This battered at him as he stripped off his filthy clothes, trying to buy time before climbing into the tub with Blueskin. These arrangements, this custom, it was never quite a willing thing. Thor had never quite been willing, only dutiful. And perhaps some part of him had always wanted more, wanted kindness and gentle affection, not fire-foreplay and talk of breeding. So when he'd met this little giant, with his easy obedience, Thor had mistaken it for obedience freely-given.

It was not that.

He was shaking with rage when he climbed into the tub, though not rage at Blueskin. Still, Blueskin didn't make matters much better. He stood with his back to Thor, the water lapping at his rear. This he spread with his hands, revealing his pucker.

"You didn't want me there yesterday," Thor snapped, harsher than he intended. "What have they told you: that you have to rectify that mistake?"

Blueskin shuddered, a barely-there gesture but unmistakable now that Thor was looking for it. It only made Thor angrier. He didn't mean to frighten the creature even more, but now that he was watching for the signs he could see that just about everything he did might frighten Blueskin. This was a giant that was no giant at all, this vulnerable being that was trying not to cry against the wall of the tub. What would it take, to force such a creature to play a role in Helblindi and Byleistr's cruel wager? Surely nothing at all. And Thor had permitted it to happen. Thor had used Blueskin, though he hadn't needed to, and in fact no one would have stopped him if instead he'd cried foul and demanded a proper bedwarmer instead, a princess capable of both being bred and holding her own against a Prince of Asgard.

But Thor's prick had preferred this, this scared little creature. Thor felt sick at himself. He found a ledge with some cakes of soap and held one out gruffly to Blueskin.

"Wash yourself, or don't," he tried, for if he gave Blueskin two options then surely Blueskin would _have_ to think for himself. The giant took the soap with shaking hands. Thor, feeling like he'd finally done some small thing right, took his own soap and retreated to the far end of the tub. And if he thought murderous thoughts as he washed himself, away from Blueskin, then there was nothing for it. At least he was giving the little giant some space. 

The rulers of Jotunheim sought to thwart Thor and the line of Odin. They were perhaps already responsible for the death of Thor's half-brother. And yet Thor had not thought them capable of such dishonor as this. They had done worse than cheat him out of his breeding duty, worse than conceal the secrets of his brother's death. They had made Thor a rapist, and in the process hurt the silent bedwarmer Thor had now twice used like a whore.

When he was done rinsing himself off, he snuck a look at Blueskin. This made Thor loose his hold on the soap in shock. 

Blueskin was crying outright as he tried to scale the slippery sides of the tub. Just why was not clear to Thor, but it was clear that he was in pain, fighting to keep his belly above the rising water.

"What are you doing?" Thor said. The water was quite comfortable. It was surprising, actually, how warm Blueskin had made it, just right for Thor's Aesir temperature.

Oh. Oh. _No_.

What was warm to Thor was not right at all for a giant. What was warm to Thor would be punishingly hot for a giant. 

"Get out," Thor told him. "Go. It's all right. Get out. There's no need to torment yourself!" 

Blueskin fled. Thor watched him scramble up the side, and though he nearly fell he reached the ladder and was able to pull himself out. But then he slipped on the tile with a cry. It took Thor a minute to understand _why_ , but even through the distorted view offered by soapy glass, he could see how discolored Blueskin's legs were. Thor gave a growl and climbed out himself, never mind that there was still soap in his beard. Blueskin was sprawled on the tile, clutching his belly and breathing hard. And his legs, his lovely cobalt legs, were a splotchy purple, blistered in places. He blinked up at Thor, dazed and frightened.

"I'm sorry," Thor told him. "I'm sorry, young one. I'm sorry. Stay right there. I will get you —"

What? Not a blanket, for covering the creature would only make him warmer. Ice, surely. He would need a tub of ice or something. Thor lurched out to the bedroom and then to the door. He opened it into the hall, not caring about his nakedness, and shouted for the servants to bring him ice. Then, panicked, he returned to Blueskin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. There is a suggestion of watersports that very likely wouldn't count as watersports for anyone into that, but may be too much for those very much not into it. Happy to provide a chapter summary if people can't stomach it. It's not sexy so much as disturbing to our PoV character (Thor).  
> 2\. Loki gets physically hurt! I can promise this hurt will be resolved and he will be OK pretty quickly, and it will lead to a pretty good development for him. But I would prefer not to spoil how and why so you will just have to trust me on this.


	8. Chapter 8

If Thor meant to throw him off-balance by subjecting him to a literal hot-and-cold, then he was doing so brilliantly.

After making Loki burn himself, he gathered Loki up and carried him to the bed. There Loki suffered for a few minutes while servants piled into the room, under Thor's command, to drain the tub and replace it with blissful ice. Loki could not tell which servants they were, his old staff or those that worked for his brothers. He didn't want them to know him. He drew closed the bed hangings as best he could and buried his face in the pillows. 

Maybe Thor wanted him humiliated. Maybe he wanted Loki outed for who and what he was, then dragged before the temple to face the judgment Loki had only evaded by the skin of his teeth. Or maybe Thor had wanted to burn up Loki and the baby, and that — that rather cured Loki of any stupid, lonely idea that he had ever owed Thor anything.

 _I may be for sale, but I don't want him to have me,_ he realized, as he lay there with such horrible throbbing pain in his legs. He'd thought it before, at the temple when he was thrashed for disobedience or when he was made to kneel for hours while reciting how honored he was to be promised to Thor for the good of Jotunheim. He'd thought it even when he was smaller and things had been a little better, his mother had been living, and he'd wanted to visit her but instead he had been cloistered away on Laufey's orders, made to learn prayers instead of permitted to play in the nursery like his brothers. He had never felt that he deserved any of that. He'd always thought he deserved better.

 _We deserve better,_ he told the baby. _You and I, for all that I've landed us in this mess._

When the servants left, Loki's golden tormentor drew back the bed curtains. He gathered Loki up in his handsome arms again. Loki had long stopped crying, since crying was a pathetic response to anything. He now gave Thor no emotions at all as Thor brought him back to the tub, carefully scaling the stepladder before releasing Loki into the comfort of the ice bath.

Loki dug his legs in as best he could, hissing with relief as the healing cold sunk into him. He refused to look at Thor. A whore wouldn't look at Thor, anyway, and if Thor was determined to hurt him then the game wasn't pleasing Thor, was it? It was merely survival.

"I'll get a healer," Thor said. "Your nuns, they're trained to heal, right?"

Perhaps that was a question and perhaps it wasn't. Loki couldn't tell with Thor, and for all Loki knew this was another ploy to get Loki to speak so Thor could punish him again. Loki kept silent. Thor soon went away, to get someone to either heal him or shame him, or knowing Thor more likely both. 

Loki dug himself further into the ice bath. He used to take these often when his mother had been living and in a mood to indulge him. It had always infuriated Laufey. He had made Loki switch to horribly hot baths once Farbauti had died, for the righteous penance factor, and Loki supposed he had no way of knowing whether Laufey had shared how much he'd hated that with Thor. He'd assumed so, when Thor had started talking of baths. It would be clever of Thor, to hurt him like that. It was clever of Thor.

But now he heard Angrboda's rumbling voice. 

_What if things are not so dire as you think?_

Was he bold enough to test that theory? Wildly arrogant enough? Because what if the panicked shame he spied on Thor now was real? What if — what if Loki’s brothers were the ones lying?

What if he tested things, tested how far he could go without repercussions, just as he always had, and broke Thor’s rules? Would Thor take it out on the baby? Thor hadn't been capable of actually boiling Loki and the child up, even if that had been his intention at the outset. 

“Am I stupid enough to risk you?” Loki told his belly, half-submerged as it was in ice. “What do you think?”

He had been stupid before. Stupidly invited Svadilfari's attentions. Stupidly run to Nal. Stupidly played along like he had any choice but to sleep with Thor when commanded to. Stupid to give away his whole future, and stupid, too, to sit and cry over that, when what was done was done. Even if Thor _had_ made him regret his choices, it now seemed ridiculous to let Thor keep holding it over him. So Loki was to never feel the wild pleasures of his cock. If Thor was the sort of man who would turn that into a shaming punishment, did Loki even want to? 

“I have to get his measure,” Loki whispered at the baby. The baby kicked as though to show its agreement. 

“I have the measure of Helblindi and Byleistr already,” Loki added. “So let us pretend, let us hope and dream, that they were lying. About how much of it, do you think?”

What a pity the child couldn’t talk back yet. Loki knew he would like it when it talked back. If they ever made it past all this pain and awfulness, past the brothel, past the city and temple, all the way up into the Ironwood, then Loki hoped it would grow into the sort of giant who talked back all the time. Not a wretchedly obedient sort. 

Now he heard a commotion that signaled Thor’s healer had arrived. It sounded like a giantess. She and Thor clattered into the room in the midst of a serious argument. 

“Again with the bedwarmer!” rumbled the giantess. “Again and again!”

“Can you help him?” Thor demanded. “I feel I cannot trust anyone else. I don’t know what they’ve threatened him with.”

Now they came close to the tub, but Loki had dug himself into the ice pile. He could see only the faint colors of them through several layers of ice, Thor golden and small, the giantess blue and normal-sized. 

“Young one?” Thor called out. “The healer is here. Will you come out?”

Would he? Loki passed a hand over his belly, considering. 

_I will not,_ he decided. It felt good to assert himself. He would not. Let Thor do his worst. Loki was tired of submitting, tired of suffering simply because he was told to. 

The giantess, for her part, snorted. 

“If you’ve frightened him as much as you think you have, I doubt he wants to face you,” she said. “Go wait outside. I’ll see if I can coax him out.” 

Loki watched Thor’s hazy golden outline recede, grateful for the sight. But this left him with the giantess. She shifted and Loki realized she was rolling up her sleeves. Loki tried to dig himself deeper. 

“Oh no you don’t,” said the giantess, for evidently she could see a hazy outline of him, too. She leaned over the tub, as she was big enough to not need the ladder, and began to dig. Loki tried to evade her hands. When one came at him, he bit it on instinct. 

The giantess reared back and cursed, a long and horribly familiar curse, so perverse that Loki associated it with only one person in particular.

“Ymir’s frozen bunghole!” she shrieked. “I hate nothing more than a runt in an ice bath!”

Loki let out a shocked little squeak, a terribly embarrassing noise. 

She did. She did hate that. She’d always hated it. 

“Nurse?” Loki said meekly. 

The great, familiar hands of Jarnsaxa of the Cloth paused in trying to reach him. 

“ _Our Loki_?” said Loki’s old nurse, aghast. 

\- 

Before the baby, Loki had loved one person, and that was his mother. But Farbauti had never been the sort to openly love him back. Farbauti's job was to remind Loki that he was a son of Odin and that Odin had plans for Loki, that Loki was to be the shadow-raised complement to Odin's sun-drenched son, the little wit that did whatever Thor did not or could not do. And, being so busy explaining to Loki that he was to have the glorious honor of being Thor's, she had often forgotten to love him. She'd delegated the love to Loki's nurse.

Jarnsaxa of the Cloth had watched over Loki for most of his life. Sketched out strategic tafl games for his political edification, and made him learn the histories of how the line of Bor came to have dominion over all the realms. Instructed him in the names of his royal cousins, from Hodur to Hela, and taught him his first runes, then his second, then his third, until he learned all the runes there were to learn. She'd argued with the priests to lessen Loki's punishments, tended to his wounds when his brothers succeeded in some trick against him, and lied for him when he succeeded in some trick against them. Loki could never have admitted it if he loved her, so he'd never bothered with examining the point too closely, but he was glad to see her, terribly. He had to berate himself to keep from crying again.

Jarnsaxa locked the bathroom and settled in to work the spell on Loki’s legs, all with much crying and fussing: holding him to her for a moment when she pulled him out, exclaiming over his belly, weeping quietly into his hair. This made Loki feel both supremely loved and slightly annoyed, in a way he hadn’t felt for over a decade. 

“What have they done to you?” she cried, once Thor was locked out. 

“Nothing,” Loki muttered. That was what Loki had often muttered, when he needed to keep her from making a stink. Only this time that assertion was more spectacularly untrue than it had ever been before, because Jarnsaxa only had to look at him to know they’d done quite a lot. 

"When you say it's nothing, it's always something!" the giantess snapped. "It's only when you screech and wail and carry on like some theater actress that it's nothing!"

Loki supposed he had done that too, once. Not anymore. 

“How did you find me?” he asked her. “How are you here? I thought Laufey sent you out of the city after mother died.”

Laufey had said Loki needed to grow up, though stripping the prince of his nurse had seemed cruel even to the high priest. Loki’s temple duties had been lessened for the next few months, not that that was better than having his nurse with him. 

“Laufey cannot tell me where to go,” Jarnsaxa said, puffing herself up proudly. She pressed her big fingers to his legs and rubbed the shape of healing runes there. Loki felt the pain begin to wane. 

“Now my questions, my duck. How did you end up in such a state? I don’t mean with this big belly — I’ve been asking around since you disappeared and so I can put that together. But here, with this stupid lump?”

She jerked a finger back at the bedchamber where Thor was. Being reminded of Thor made Loki’s delight at seeing Jarnsaxa evaporate. He wrung his hands as he tried to come up with an appropriate answer that wouldn't shame him any more than the belly did. 

“I know he’s bedded you,” Jarnsaxa said gently, catching sight of his expression. “And that he’s mad to know your identity — so mad he’s ignoring his real duties here.”

Mad to know Loki's identity?

 _What_?

“You mean he doesn’t know who I am?” Loki said, sputtering. “How could he not know?”

“How could he? He’s never seen you. Odin what-sired-you never made an introduction. All that great ninny out there knows is that you’re a dead runt prince. Or that you’re a live runt bedwarmer he’s besotted with. But he hasn’t the sense to connect that you’re _you_. He’s here to investigate your death and has to breed someone suitable during his visit. Well, they gave him someone suitable, only he thinks you’re unsuitable in the sense that you’re already bred. And that’s the most thought he’s given to it, other than to urge me to help him determine your name.”

“Don’t tell him,” Loki said immediately. 

This was all rather a lot to process. But certain things stood out. Thor hadn’t been trying to hurt him. Thor had thought they were taking their pleasure together, probably, and had been kind to be kind. Thor had no idea Loki was his disgraced betrothed. 

Thor was just _stupid_. 

And he couldn’t be allowed to know how far Loki had fallen. 

"What do you mean, don't tell him?" Jarnsaxa said, as though Loki was being foolish, as though Loki were six years old again and afraid of old Odin beneath the bed, coming to drag him to Thor. "He's looking for you! Odin's sent him here, worried over what might have become of you, angry over your supposed death—"

"Odin doesn't care about me," Loki said. 

Those words slipped out too. But of course they did. They were true. Odin had _never_ cared about Loki, Loki was the merely the last by-blow he'd sired when he'd long tired of siring by-blows. Loki was a child who had value only inasmuch as he could be used to prop up another, better child. It was fitting that the only thing that could make Odin pay attention, make Odin send golden Thor, was Loki dying. Dying was probably just about the most interesting thing a runt like Loki could do in Odin's estimation: dying and serving and offering up more part-Aesir babies for the great king to neglect.

 _Not you, though,_ he thought to his child, as Jarnsaxa continued to minister to his legs. _Not you. You're not to be Odin's or Thor's. You're to be mine, and while you're mine I can teach you to be no one's but your own._

Jarnsaxa shot him a keen look.

"Why should Prince Thor not know your name?" she demanded again. "He's an Aesir, duck. They don't think of this as the sort of shame you and I do, having a child out of wedlock—"

"I didn't _want_ Thor," Loki forced out. "I wanted to be free of him, do you understand? And what does it matter if he's too thick to see how I'm shamed? I'm shamed whether he can see it or not. I'm nameless. It would be a farce to pretend otherwise."

And Thor would see the shame. Loki had crawled forward and taken Thor's cock in his mouth, swilled the dregs of Thor's piss on his tongue. Offered his rear hole to Thor like it was nothing. Let Thor nurse him, call him a little _cow_ , for pity's sake. Cried and sobbed because he’d thought that was what Thor wanted of him: his misery.

Was that how Thor should know Loki? What possible use could it be, to tell this foreign idiot that a prince that had once longed to be his equal was now little more than a cunt that cried on command? 

"For Ymir's sake," Jarnsaxa said, kneading his legs now to make the runes really take. "What is he to call you, then, if not your name, our Loki? He's calling you 'Blueskin.' That can't stand—"

"Then I'll be Blueskin!" Loki said. Really. If Thor truly hadn’t meant to hurt him, then the very possibility that Thor might discover how much he _had_ made licks of horrified heat blister Loki’s mind. No. _No_.

But now something Jarnsaxa had said struck him.

"Odin sent him to investigate my death?" he said.

Jarnsaxa nodded.

Oh. Well. Then there was an idea here. A passably clever idea. A way of getting himself and his child clear of the city and temple, clear of Thor and Odin, Helblindi and Byleistr, Laufey and Nal. 

Not by pleasing Thor. No. Not by subjugating himself to Thor. 

By using Thor. 

"I shall be dead,” Loki said slowly, as he put the idea together. “And Blueskin — Thor can pay Blueskin to help him figure out how it happened."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly this isn't where people thought this chapter would go. But if he doesn't complicate the entire plot due to his messed up feelings about himself and Thor, then is he really even Loki?


	9. Chapter 9

When Jarnsaxa led his little Blueskin out into the bedchamber, Blueskin walking without any evident pain, on two unharmed legs, to say that Thor was relieved was an understatement. 

And when Blueskin said, in a pleasant voice, "I'm sorry for the fright I gave you, my lord," Thor nearly fell over. 

"You talk now?" he said. "You're talking?"

Blueskin blinked at him. Any trace of fear was gone.

"Whores can talk the same as anyone else. I was told you Aesir enjoy a silent submissive type, but this good nurse you’ve brought me says you likely won't settle the bill?"

"The bill?" Thor said, aghast. "You mean they're not paying you?"

Even in the spare moments when he'd dared to entertain that Blueskin might be a whore, here in this realm where that seemed a truly dangerous job, Thor hadn't bothered to consider payment. Thor had all the nine realms as his inheritance. And people like Blueskin, people who came into contact with Thor for reasons strictly related to his stature, were paid when they needed to be, using that inheritance. Payment happened. Transactions occurred. That was the most Thor usually needed to know about it.

“I was promised a thousand,” Blueskin said. 

Again, Thor was rendered speechless.

He might not know the details of just how Asgard’s coffers paid his way across the nine realms, but he did get his own pocket money for food, ale, and other impulse purchases. And he had friends who complained of bills and other things like that. So he knew that even the most extravagant brothel binge, the sort that always seemed to keep his friend Fandral on the edge of bankruptcy, cost in the realm of three hundred. To spend a thousand on a single whore was—

 _Well. But it’s not as if last night wasn’t well worth a thousand,_ supplied Thor’s traitorous brain. 

Then Thor’s good, solid common sense rallied itself. He had something like five hundred in spending money for this trip, he thought. To pay what Blueskin demanded he’d have to write for more, which would mean explaining to Asgard — to his father — just how Thor knew Blueskin. The wager. All that.

 _Absolutely not_ , Thor decided.

Blueskin seemed almost able to tell Thor’s reluctance, for he opened his mouth as if to protest. Thor held up a warning finger. Then he began to pace, trying to work out his thoughts. 

Leaving aside that Thor could hardly process Blueskin now, how the cowed little giant from before had morphed into this cool creature that examined Thor almost insolently, Odin didn’t need to know about the wager. Nor how Thor had been tripping over his own cock to bed this pretty thing. Nor even how Thor had nearly burned Blueskin alive and been forced to call on the only Jotunn magic user he knew to remedy that. 

But the longer Thor paced here, the more Blueskin seemed inclined to make himself at home until he got his fee. It was a radical change from the Blueskin of before, no longer even a bit frightened. As Thor took two steps here, three steps there, thinking through how to resolve this, Blueskin managed to use the sheer power of demanding glares alone to bully Jarnsaxa — a giantess four times his size — into getting him a robe from the wardrobe. This he pulled over his distended belly as best he could. Then he treated himself to two chairs from Prince Loptr’s card table and sat on one, throwing up his long legs on the other. 

“I take it by your silence you believe my services aren’t worth the sum,” he told Thor, when this was done. 

His voice was still so clear and cool, damn him. Like he fooled hapless princes every night, like offering up the sweet vision of his cunt, belly, cock, and breasts was only ever a prelude to this sort of shakedown. 

“Never mind that I performed to specifications,” he continued. “Every hole available. Every perverse request fulfilled. My _breasts_ —that’s an extra fee, you know, to drink from me like you’re my spouse or child—“

“I get it,” Thor said quickly, throwing a panicked look at Jarnsaxa. She was his father’s spy. Would she _tell_ his father about this, about Thor developing strange and highly expensive new proclivities not two nights into his trip?

He did not want to have a conversation about this with his father. He’d been sent here to nobly investigate his brother-betrothed and do his duty to Asgard, not to get tangled up with a pretty, deceitful little whore. A whore who’d seriously made Thor think for a moment that Thor had _raped_ him. 

But Jarnsaxa only fluttered about Blueskin for some reason, twisting her arms anxiously. Thor supposed the circumstances even stymied her. 

“It’s up to some debate whether last night was worth a thousand,” Thor said carefully, trying to think of how best to talk his way to a more reasonable resolution. It was either that or strike Blueskin for the dishonor of frightening him and then charging him so much for it, and even Thor wouldn’t strike a pregnant person. “This night certainly isn’t.”

Blueskin flushed and started, opening his mouth to argue. Thor held up a warning finger again. 

“Regardless, your price seems a lot. A great deal. And I would need to give Asgard some reason to justify such an expense—“

Blueskin flicked a glance to Jarnsaxa, a glance so swift Thor only noticed it by virtue of how unexpected the action was. 

“Ah,” said the giantess, still wringing her hands. “That’s it, though, Aesir-prince. Blueskin is worth the expense. You see, he may be able to help us find our Loki.”

“What?” Thor said, caught off guard now for the fourth or fifth time. “What do you mean? Do you mean he knew the prince? And how do _you_ know this whore?”

But no. He didn't need an answer to that last question. He’d told Jarnsaxa to investigate Blueskin, hadn’t he? And Jarnsaxa had said it would be easy to discern his identity and place in giant society. 

“Who is he?” Thor demanded now, gesturing at Blueskin. “What’s his name? How did he know Loptr?”

Jarnsaxa let Blueskin answer. He did this with a great flourishing gesture at his belly. 

“You see my condition?” Blueskin said coolly. “Any giant would be able to tell you what it means, that I am swollen with child but shamefully wear no ring to show the house I belong to. That is because I have no house. My house expelled me, stripped me of my name, when I fell pregnant out of wedlock. I had to leave the temple, too, and in a hurry.”

“You were a temple novice?” Thor said. “With Prince Loptr?”

Blueskin nodded. 

“I can help you find what happened to him,” he said. “I knew him well.” 

“But—“ Thor began, then stopped. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to protest, only that he did want to. He still didn’t know Blueskin’s name. 

“What am I to call you?” he demanded again. “If you’re, as you say, ‘stripped of your name.’”

“Blueskin will do,” Blueskin said, with a shrug. 

-

Over the course of the next hour, all of Thor’s questions about Blueskin were finally answered. He was a professional whore, a well-connected and rather special one owing to his unique condition, not in any serious danger from the temple, and arrogant about all this, to boot. He wasn't in on Helblindi and Byleistr’s trick — he’d only been doing his work for a fee, that was all. He was not afraid of Thor. In fact, he laughed when Thor suggested it, and explained that a bit of fear was part of the act. 

“But I burned you,” Thor protested. 

Blueskin had taken to lounging on the bed as though it was his own, insolently playing two sides of a tafl set he’d pulled from Prince Loptr’s gaming chest. He shrugged now. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve bedded someone who wanted to hurt me,” he said. 

Jarnsaxa looked pained at this. Thor pulled her aside for a moment, behind the screen that led to the bathroom. While he'd been waiting for her to arrive he'd pulled on leggings and an open-faced dressing gown of his own, and he now worried the edges of one sleeve a bit, thinking.

“Can I really trust this creature?” he asked Jarnsaxa. 

Blueskin seemed to have a new persona for every new hour. Thor didn’t like that. 

“I do,” said Jarnsaxa. “He’s not lying about being raised in the temple.”

“Yes, alongside Prince Loptr. I suppose you saw him there?” Thor quizzed. "Rather distinctive, isn't he? So you would know him."

Rather distinctive, and, strangely, rather like the dead prince. Not that Thor had much to go on, since Laufey appeared to have no holographs or paintings of his stepson. And obviously Blueskin didn't have the markings the prince did, those distinctive whorls, and in the one holograph Thor had seen the prince had been a much duller blue. But still. Blueskin seemed about the size people said Loptr was. Thor wondered briefly if that might not have led to some closeness with the prince. Bonding over both being temple runts, perhaps.

“I had the rearing of the prince for a time, as your father can verify,” Jarnsaxa said now. “This meant I handled the lessons he had in politics and magic, sometimes with some of the other novices. I remember this child well. A dab hand at all his subjects, as good as the prince was, and as close to our Loki as it is possible for anyone to be.”

This did explain how comfortable Blueskin was in Loptr’s rooms, and how he’d known to find Loptr’s private papers. Even how he’d sobbed over them. Evidently it hadn’t been grief over Farbauti, but over a dear friend. 

Thor decided to trust him. This turned out to be difficult, however, as the real Blueskin was not so sweet as the fantasy he played at. He was neither agreeable nor obedient, but instead horribly impertinent. Before he would let Thor move on to asking questions about Loptr, he demanded highly specific treats from the citadel kitchens. He also found several good cloaks in Loptr’s wardrobe and directed Jarnsaxa to fold and bag them for him to take, which the giantess nearly did until Thor put his foot down — friends or not, he could not approve of Blueskin essentially stealing. 

Oh, and Blueskin criticized everything he learned about Thor. 

Of the wager: “You let them get the best of you so easily? How could you? Don’t you know that Helblindi and Byleistr will do anything to keep Odin’s line off the throne?”

Of the cloaks: “And who do you think Loptr would have wanted to have them? A great stupid lump like you? You never even visited him, not once in your life!”

Relatedly, of Prince Loptr: “Oh, I’m sure you would have been an awful choice for him. Marriage-wise, I mean. I shudder to think of someone of the prince’s stature being saddled to a man who comes with a tit in his mouth, frankly.”

At this point Thor was nearly ready to smack some respect into the creature, and had to beat back this extremely ignoble impulse. It wasn’t just that Blueskin carried a child. It was that he was barely into manhood, so young that he could stuff himself full of greasy fish cakes for an hour and then cry for more. 

Young enough to swagger up to Thor’s hammer, resting on the card table, and try to lift it, too. He looked genuinely dismayed when he couldn’t. Thor smirked. 

“How do you believe Loptr died?” Thor asked him. 

Blueskin sat sulkily on the edge of the card table and bit his bottom lip. Jarnsaxa, evidently possessed of strange maternal impulses Thor wouldn’t have given her credit for, took the opportunity to gently brush fish cake crumbs from the front of his robes. Blueskin let her as he answered. 

“They say it was illness. But suicide or being killed by his family is much more likely.”

“Why?” Thor demanded. 

Blueskin snorted. He patted the swell of his belly. 

“There were rumors he took a lover. Taking a lover when you’re promised to a prince so golden and fine as you means letting people know you’re risking this. This shame. Most giants can’t live with anyone knowing they spread their legs before marriage. For a giant, if you're lucky, it means never being let into polite society again, losing all you are, and if you're unlucky it means your family brings temple charges and you're killed. And I’m sure Laufey and his sons made that clear to Loptr.”

“You managed to survive a little bit of premarital sex,” Thor said, raising an eyebrow. "And no one's bringing charges against you."

“That's because I’m not a prince. I’m nothing.”

“But did you see him kill himself?” Thor insisted. “Or have proof he was murdered? Ritually or otherwise?”

Blueskin shifted uncomfortably. “Why?” he said, with a nervous little laugh. “Do you need an eyewitness? The body?”

“The body would be nice,” Thor said. That was the trouble with both the illness theory and the suicide theory. In both cases, the giants would have burned the body rather than preserve it in their consecrated ground, and so Thor would have no real proof to take back to his father.

“A body would be evidence of something,” Thor said. “Instead of nothing, which is what I have, since all I have is your guess that Loptr and his family were unhappy about some romance of his. And that, I’m sorry to say, isn’t worth coin. I can’t go back to Asgard and tell them ‘case closed. I talked to a nameless runt.’”

Blueskin looked frustrated. Thor felt a strange victory. He wasn’t sure why he should want to win against Blueskin, but he did, after the ups and downs Blueskin had subjected him to. 

“I can’t get you a body,” Blueskin admitted. “Or much proof that the royal family is evil, at least not more proof than you already have of that.”

Thor said, “Then you’re not much use to me, are you?”

Blueskin’s pretty face crumpled. Thor’s sense of victory turned to ash, for some reason.

“Fine,” Blueskin said, unaware of this. “I can give you two more leads. I didn’t want to tell you this, seeing as it’s private. These were his secrets, two reasons he might have been killed. The first is his lover.”

Thor looked at Jarnsaxa. She mouthed the name as Blueskin said it, with as much disdain on her face as now dripped from Blueskin’s tone. 

“Svadilfari. He was horrible. And a stablehand, but Loptr still thought they were in love. Loptr was stupid sometimes. Svadilfari didn’t love him. He was violent with him, actually. Once or twice violent enough to kill him, if you ask me.”

Here he broke off, biting his lip again. He seemed to be thinking hard about all the possibilities now, not just murder. Good. This was what Thor needed. Someone who really knew the dead prince, and who could point him to every potential outcome, even the sordid ones. 

“You said two secrets,” Thor said. 

Blueskin swung his legs for a moment. 

“I’m getting to the other one. Loptr could have been ill. He could have killed himself or been made to kill himself by his family. Laufey could have murdered him outright, or the other princes might have, or even the priests. Or Svadilfari could have done it. Or...”

“Or?” Thor prompted. 

And now Blueskin did something strange. He smiled. It was a small smile, but such a light one that even Thor, who now knew what an utter brat he was, was won over by it. 

“Maybe none of that happened. Maybe he escaped his life like he wanted. I used to tell him about the place I’m from, this marvelous place. The forest that surrounds a great icy waterfall atop the Snowpeak. It’s called the Ironwood. It's very far, high up in the clouds. But he used to say he’d run away there. That was his great plan, you know.”

Thor felt the bottom drop out from his world. 

“You mean he could be alive?” he said. “My brother — my _intended_? Alive?”


	10. Chapter 10

Loki had dangled so many possible solutions here in Utgard — his death at his own hand, at Laufey’s, at the hands of his brothers or the temple or Svadilfari— that he was reasonably sure Thor would have to stay here to investigate them. 

Which was fine. Which was brilliant. That meant someone else would have to look into the possibility that Loptr was hiding in the Ironwood. Loki selflessly offered himself for that. As far as Thor knew, Blueskin was an old native of the Ironwood and therefore very suited to investigating the possibility that Loptr yet lived. Thor would only have to pay to send him far, far up the Snowpeak to his old home. Him and his dear old nana. 

“Me,” Jarnsaxa decided, when she met him in the brothel kitchen in the pale purple light of morning. 

“What?” Loki said. 

He hadn’t meant her. He felt stupid again. He should have suggested Thor send her and him and Angrboda. But surely that cost would have made Thor balk? Thor had already pulled a face when Loki had told him it would take a thousand at least to send two people up with the caravans. 

“I notice you’re not agreeing, our Loki,” Jarnsaxa said. She glared around at the shabby walls, the broken table, the dirty children playing in the ash heap by the corner. “But who else but me could go with you? You’re not going to go alone, not in your state. Your mother would turn in her grave.”

“Ah. I have this friend who has a cottage there already,” Loki said, and stuffed his face full of flatbread both to soothe his incessant hunger and to buy himself some time. But eventually he had to come out with it. 

“She’s been quite nice,” he said, when the flatbread was gone. “She pays for me but doesn’t use me, just lets me rest. Her name’s Angrboda — the witch Angrboda.”

He had to seize his battered teacup to keep it from clattering to the floor as Jarnsaxa’s furious hand hit the table,

“ _Angrboda_ knew you were here?” hissed Loki’s nurse. “And she didn’t tell me?”

“You know her?” Loki cried. 

“Know her? Our Loki, it was Angrboda what delivered you into this world!”

“What?” Loki said. " _What_?"

Did that make sense? Well, why else would the old woman visit him and be so kind to him, pass him money from her retirement stipend, threaten Nal when it seemed like Loki had too many bruises from an earlier customer? Still, the thought was wild enough that Loki permitted Jarnsaxa to coax him out again despite how tired he was. He asked Sigyn to cover for him should Nal look for him, gathered up the rucksack that held his coin and his mother's signet ring, and took Jarnsaxa to the rookery. Though Angrboda did not live so far away, it was a bit of journey nevertheless, for Loki was so ungainly these days. 

Jarnsaxa spent the whole time rubbing his back and complaining loudly about Angrboda.

"That featherbrained dolt! That useless biddy! She could have tracked me down, told me you were in such an awful place!"

"I didn't want anyone to know," Loki said. “Actually, had I heard she was spreading it about, I might have literally tried to kill myself.”

"She could have told me anyway!” Jarnsaxa said, quite used to Loki’s drama and therefore not inclined to treat the threat with any seriousness. “That witch has never had sense, never!"

When they reached the rookery, the great crumbling apartment house that housed nothing but retired priests and nuns, Loki hid among the firs of the park across the street while Jarnsaxa went to demand the doorman fetch Angrboda for them. Then she stomped back to where Loki was hiding and continued her diatribe, after picking Loki up and settling him in her lap so she could massage his swollen, pained feet. 

"She never could be trusted to use her brain, I tell you. All the more reason why I should go up the mountain with you, not her! How could she not tell me she found you?"

Angrboda's massive shadow fell across the cracked stone bench where they now sat.

"Why would I, hag?" Angrboda said. "With our Loki in the danger he's in? With the temple so powerful here, and Laufey and those monstrous boys of his seeking to hurt him? You think I told anyone where he was?"

Jarnsaxa placed Loki gently on the bench and then sprang up to her full size.

"I could have helped him! Helped both of you!"

"I thought you were still in the West! You left our Loki and hopped on a boat just after his mother died, didn't you? How was I to know you were back?"

" _You_ left him when he was just a babe! All because Laufey had him consigned to the temple!"

Angrboda grew grave, guilt settling on her massive features.

"Aye," she said regretfully. "I married to get myself out of there, and rather than have to see the way the child was to be raised."

Jarnsaxa, too, sagged. 

"Aye for me too," she said, after a few moments. "I only came back to Utgard when they claimed illness took our little one. I knew that was a lie."

Then the two women were seizing each other and hugging. Loki blinked up at this, enough of a production that it scared the birds from the trees. Or maybe it wasn’t a production. He knew productions, and the giantess’ relief here seemed far too real to be that.

"I've so much to tell you," Jarnsaxa told Angrboda.

"And I you," Angrboda told Jarnsaxa.

"Your plan to get him out of the city is sound, but in his condition—"

"Aye, it's a long way with him so gravid. But I can help, you know I'm healer-trained."

"But I have the funds."

"But I have the cottage.

"Well, let's talk it over," said Jarnsaxa. "Goat's tit?" 

"Goat's tit," said Angrboda.

"What's goat's tit?" Loki demanded, half-afraid of the answer.

-

It was a tavern. Not one of the fashionable ones for young people that Loki had been accustomed to sneaking off to, back when he'd been a spoiled, rulebreaking prince. This was a large, homely place for only those old enough and poor enough to have nostalgia for greasy shrimp soup and Old Illi's Nonalcoholic Fizzy Ale. Nearly every giant at the bar was craggy-faced and ancient, and the place kept up the old mountain peasant custom of a smelly warthog pen in the corner. 

Angrboda hustled them into a back booth that seemed to be her usual. Jarnsaxa ordered them some hogskin fritters, and Loki watched with revulsion as one of the hogs was led out of the pen to be slaughtered in the backroom. He felt bad for it. He felt less bad when he had a plate of fritters, though. He'd never had them before. Warthogs were the sort of thing only common, irreligious people ate.

These days, he was both common and irreligious. Also, always very, very hungry. 

Jarnsaxa ended up paying for their meal, very free with the silver. So it wasn't just Loki's plan and dealings with Thor that they ended up discussing. Now her dealings came out too.

"I'm on Asgard's payroll," she revealed. She speared a fritter with a toothpick and pointed it at Loki. "Which means _you_ needn't have pressed the Asgard-prince for so much additional spending money to get up the mountain. I could have given you some of that. Though I suppose it will come in handy if all three of us are to go."

Loki reached for another fritter. He wondered what it would taste like in fishcake grease. Then he wondered at himself for having such a disgusting idea.

"What if Thor doesn't want to send three?" he said.

"Then I go," Angrboda said immediately. "I'm the one what has a home there, and can draw a map of the forest."

"Right. If you can draw a map you don't need to go," Jarnsaxa said. "I can go."

“My cottage will not permit any I don’t invite into it.”

“You’re a witch. You can change that spell. Or else just invite me.”

"I am the elder, the better witch, and the larger and more beautiful. You ought to respect my right to go."

"I am the one who raised our Loki. You ought to respect _my_ right."

" _I_ pulled him into this world!"

" _I_ gave him my own good milk!"

Loki hadn't slept all night and also he was starving, so he let their tentative peace erupt back into a fight. He focused on getting as many hog fritters as could. Also, he fanned the fight a bit, pointing out that Angrboda had probably been the very first hands to hold him ("Indeed I was!" said that giantess) and that Jarnsaxa had comforted him after he'd lost his first tooth ("You remember that, do you, our Loki?" said that giantess). When his appetite was finally sated, he piled fritters into his pockets in case he and the babe were hungry later and then dozed a bit, propped up between the two great hills that were the giantesses. 

It was nice to be fought over.

In his sleepy daze, he thought of what it might be like to finally reach the Ironwood. Whether he went with his nurse or with Angrboda didn’t bother him, so long as he had the both of them with him eventually, and in the meantime at least one of the two. He couldn’t make such a long journey alone. And he'd need someone to help him have the baby. He didn’t know the first thing about having babies. Sigyn and the other girls had shown him tricks for breathing and things like that, but the consensus was that Loki would be likely to survive the experience only by the skin of his teeth, so small was he and so big was the child growing. 

Svadilfari had been a runt, but one on the large end. And Loki’s mother and grandmother had been very large. This little one was growing similarly. It would not be a pleasant labor, Loki knew. 

_But instead of drowning, I was saved. And instead of the two of us dying on an abortionist’s table, we staggered out, this babe and I. I can survive things. I am not good for much, but I am good for that,_ Loki thought. 

And if he did survive, he could live with the giantesses in the cottage behind the ice falls, learning wild magic and teaching it to the babe. All mages on Jotunheim were supposed to join the temple, where they studied only spells approved by Laufey and the high priests. But once Loki got free of Utgard those laws would matter less and less. 

Jotunheim had one great continent, and Laufey held sway on its lesser peaks and in its sloping valleys. From Utgard, a jewel on the Western shore that controlled all access to the lawless Western archipelago, Laufey could send his priest-executioners to nearly every corner of Jotunheim. But not to the Ironwood. The forest was too high up, too overrun with beasts, too wild and large for even Laufey to police. 

_What marvelous forest witches we shall be when we get there, answering only to ourselves,_ Loki thought drowsily at the baby. 

Then Thor strode in. With a great clap on Loki's back he ruined both Loki’s reverie and the pleasant awfulness of the Goat's Tit.

"Good," said the prince. "You're both here. And this. Whoever this is."

Angrboda stared at Thor. Thor stared at Angrboda.

After a few moments, Jarnsaxa said, a little awkwardly. "This is...another spy for Asgard, my prince. A spy for me, anyway."

"Good," Thor said again, without much concern. He squeezed into their booth, evidently not needing an invitation to make himself at home. Loki blinked at him.

Loki had thought he was so clever, so horrible. But no. No, Thor was, possibly, an actual idiot. Certainly he had no notion of how to vet a spy, which didn't make Loki terribly confident in his ability to investigate Loki's own death.

Well. Good. 

Thor reached for the last fritter, which was less good. He munched it thoughtfully and then said, "Blueskin, you shall be pleased that I've finally found a horse."

Angrboda started at the strange name, but Loki poked her generous stomach beneath the table.

"Good for you, Prince Thor," he said.

Thor regarded him like he was being slow.

"It is good for you as well," he said. "It is a much more affordable way for you and I to travel to the Ironwood."

"You and I?" Loki cried, aghast.

"Of course," Thor said. "You know the terrain, but you're right that you're in too delicate a condition to go alone. And it would be dishonorable to send you with the frail old grandmother you described to me, no matter how beautiful or kind or magical she is. No, you need someone who can help you if there are brigands, or rockslides, or local fauna who might do you harm."

"Brigands?" Loki said. " _Fauna_?"

Thor smiled. It was a very clever smile for a man Loki had just privately decided was incredibly stupid.

"I will of course have Asgard pay passage for your dear old nana once we know what has become of Prince Loptr. And in the meantime, you will lead me to the place you claimed to have described to him, to this Ironwood. And we shall search it for him together, while Jarnsaxa remains. She shall have the assistance of another one of Asgard's agents, if she desires it, in order to chase down the other leads."

Now Jarnsaxa herself protested, and Angrboda let out a growl of displeasure that perfectly echoed what Loki thought about this whole idea. Thor misinterpreted the growl.

"And of course the spy's spy can help too," he said, waving at the sixteen-foot elder giantess like she was no more than a gnat. "There are certainly plenty of leads to chase down in Utgard."

"That's precisely why you should stay!" Loki insisted. "You're the one in charge, after all!"

"I am the one in charge, aren't I?" Thor said, grin growing wide. "Very good. Remember that, and perhaps do less of the demanding and lounging and general petty thievery you were so fond of last night, and our journey shall be very enjoyable."

"But there's no reason for you to go with me!" Loki insisted. "Anyone could go with me! Jarnsaxa could protect me as easily as you!"

Thor's smile froze a bit. Now it no longer reached his eyes. When he spoke, his tone was strange.

"Of course there's a reason," he said, sounding clipped. "You were right that Loptr wanted to escape. That desire is written plain all over his personal papers, which you were so kind as to reveal to me the other night. But even if he has escaped, has somehow faked his own death, I must still do my duty. I must find him and take him away from this awful realm, and install him in Asgard as my bride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone who said "roadtrip!" was right. You all deserve special commendations. :D


	11. Chapter 11

After Blueskin and Jarnsaxa had left the temple complex, Thor had still felt uneasy. He'd spent the rest of the night poring over Loptr's private papers, which did indeed evince a desire in the Jotunn prince to escape, to be free of not just Laufey and Utgard but his life in general. Aside from that, all those those unsent letters to Odin, the pleas for their father's attention and condescension and mercy, were not illuminating. They were merely sad. After an hour or so of tracing Loptr's signature little snake and wondering at what the letters Loptr _had_ sent might read like (more composed, Thor assumed. Less honest), Thor gave up.

He walked to a stable on the outskirts of town and on the way called to Heimdall. Not to tell him everything. Just to tell him that, by strange coincidence, their spy had provided them with a source who might know the whereabouts of a living Prince Loptr. Might be able to lead them to the prince.

"I can't say I trust the source, though," Thor said. "It seems too pat. My father would want me to do the sensible thing and stay in Utgard. There are more leads here. More concerning ones, too. If Loptr is alive, then I hardly need to be here at all. And if he has run off to avoid marrying me, it's a good resolution for the both of us."

Heimdall had said nothing. Which was a bad thing, actually. 

"It is perhaps technically my duty to ensure Loptr is safe," Thor admitted. 

Heimdall stared.

“Though really, if he’s safe, why bother him?” said Thor. 

Heimdall kept staring. Thor began to think of the vulnerable, unhappy creature that had written Loptr's letters. 

_I fear I will never be good enough for Thor,_ he'd said more than once, and Thor had felt like there was a pit in his stomach, reading that.

"Alright. So this is my intended we're talking about," he said now. "Fine! I get it! _I_ should be the one to track him if he's alive!"

Heimdall stared.

"In fact I will. You'll be the one to stay here and assist our spy here if she calls for your aid. And I will go up the mountain with Blueskin and hope to find my bride. Who I should have visited even just once while he'd been living! I can see that now!"

"You're not going to find a horse in this stable you're heading to now. You should try the one under the bridge on the other side of town," Heimdall said, and that was how Thor knew he was no longer being judged. 

So this was the right plan, then. 

Blueskin didn't seem too fond of it, which also told Thor it was a good plan. Blueskin was a teenage giant pregnant out of wedlock, not to mention a duplicitous little thing who sold himself for coin in a realm where to do so meant risking death. He was therefore at the very least a poor decision maker. Thor took comfort in knowing that he was doing the very opposite of what Blueskin wanted him to do. Thor also reminded Blueskin that Thor held the pursestrings, and was willing to pay for whoever Blueskin liked to follow them up the Snowpeak once they knew just what had become of Prince Loptr. And that settled that. 

The only real issue that remained was how to present the trip to Laufey's court. 

Here the wager came in useful, particularly once Angrboda, the new giantess, told Thor of an old fertility temple located halfway up the Snowpeak. 

"My little Blueskin isn't bred yet for some reason," Thor announced at the citadel’s midday meal, not three hours after he’d met Blueskin and the others at the Goat's Tit.

Helblindi-or-Byleistr began to choke. Thor ignored the prince, whichever prince he happened to be, and kept speaking.

"I shall not call for him tonight. Instead I shall take him on a trip to a fertility temple I've heard about. We will head out tomorrow. It should take a few weeks or so, by my estimate, but perhaps the good priests at the temple can offer me and my Blueskin a solution."

Thor could make the trip in an instant, by taking the Bifrost. But if he did that, then the flash of the great rainbow bridge would alert Laufey to his real intended location, where poor, unhappy Loptr might be hiding. Thor would not risk Loptr if he was alive. And to fly up the mountain would surely be so conspicuous as to suggest to Laufey that something was up. So Thor would make the trip as the giants did, not with magic but by good, old-fashioned road travel. 

Now Laufey's huge knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. 

"What nonsense. You will not find any solutions. And you must mean a purity temple," he said. "There has not been a temple to _fertility_ in Jotunheim since I cleaned out the whores and criminals that once poisoned our fair church."

"Yes, well, let's hope some are still hanging on, then," Thor said, mostly to see the Jotunn king flush with rage.

Byleist-or-Helblindi, for his part, adjusted his ugly signet ring and said, "Getting desperate?"

"Not desperate," Thor assured him. "Merely religiously-inspired. It must be all the temple services. Anyway, perhaps exposing my little Blueskin to some religion will finally coax a word out of him."

He didn't miss how the princes now shared an ugly smirk between them. 

Before Thor had returned to the citadel, Blueskin had pulled him aside.

"Please don't tell the princes I broke character with you," he'd said, stiff about it. "They are very fine patrons of mine. I will lose a great deal of business if they learn I have been anything but the sweet, silent treasure they seemed to think you would like."

"Patrons who don't pay you?" Thor had said. "And what is this — Laufey's own sons patronizing a whore?"

"They are princes, and may do as they please," Blueskin had said, looking pained. "And they do like a joke."

That it was the princes' idea of a joke to present Thor with what was essentially a sex slave made a sick kind of sense. But Thor had to wonder about the details. 

Why forbid Blueskin from speaking to him? Had they plucked Blueskin out from the underbelly of Utgard because they'd known the little giant was once a friend to Prince Loptr? How deep did their hatred for their half-brother run? So deep as to extend to even those who'd once been kind to the prince?

Laufey now said, ponderous and certain, “Fertility temple or not, Ymir will not smile on those who are innately wicked."

"I hope that's true," Thor said serenely, looking around at the whole lot of them.

-

They set out the very next day, after funds, supplies, and provisions came from Asgard. Blueskin met Thor at the city gates. He carried a worn rucksack and wore a tunic and leggings that were little more than rags, as he'd worn at the Goat's Tit, as well as a ratty cloak that was too big for him. Actually, it was the exact color of Jarnsaxa's cloak, and might have been a bit of cloth inexpertly ripped from that. Thor almost felt bad for not letting Blueskin steal the much finer, warmer clothes that had belonged to Loptr.

"I'm told it is cold on the Snowpeak, cold even for giants," Thor told Blueskin carefully. 

"You worry about yourself, Prince Thor," was the curt answer. " _I'm_ told the ride up the Snowpeak is generally done by dinosaur caravan, and you're doing it with a horse, a whore, and a hammer."

"And plenty of food for that whore if he isn't too mouthy," Thor retorted, patting the saddlebags. He held out a hand, but it took more than a hand to get Blueskin arranged on the horse, for he seemed to have no sense of how to ride it with that belly of his. In the end, they settled for him sidesaddle in front of Thor, with his bony shoulder pressed against Thor's chest.

In this manner, they began their ascent of the great mountain. 

It was excruciating going. The great dinosaurs on the main road kicked up dust and ice, which got into their eyes and on their clothes. Blueskin was prone to irritability over anything and everything, from discomfort over riding to the pain his cheap leather shoes apparently caused his feet. He particularly decided he hated the horse, and spent a great deal of time complaining about how the Aesir were good for nothing if they couldn't come up with travel spells.

"Aren't you supposed to be the most advanced in all the realms?"

"We have the Bifrost," Thor said, through clenched teeth. "Why invent travel spells when we have the Bifrost?"

"Why aren't we _using_ your Bifrost?"

"I told you! We must think of Loptr!"

"You never thought about him _before_."

Thor could have borne this impertinence had the little giant proven any use at all, he really could have. Blueskin was to be his guide, and Thor knew to treat guides with patience and tact. But Blueskin seemed to need to keep referring to a map, and it was like he was seeing that map for the very first time. He also didn't seem to trust Thor to read it.

When it was nearly nightfall and they still hadn't made the first town, Thor exploded.

"Haven't you made this journey before?" he demanded. "I thought you were from the Ironwood! Here, let me see it!"

Blueskin tucked the map away, quick as a flash.

"Why? You don't know anything about Jotunheim! If it were up to you, we'd end up in the Western archipelago, where it's so cold you'd freeze instantly to death!"

"The map," Thor repeated.

"I can get us there! I swear it!"

"The. Map."

"It won't look right. It's in our runes, not yours."

"I have the Allspeak," Thor said, exasperated. "You think I can't read your runes?"

"The Allspeak doesn't work quite as right as you think," Blueskin insisted stubbornly. "Take me. I'm a he."

Thor squinted at him. He tried to resist the urge to clobber him over the head and take the map.

"Yes," he said, like he was speaking to an imbecile. "I know. You're a he."

"No! Not a he! A _he_."

"I know!" Thor said.

If he wasn't trying to keep the horse on track despite the whirl of snow and dust around them, he would be shaking Blueskin by now.

Blueskin stuck his chin out like an irritating little mule.

"I mean that I'm both. Your Allspeak doesn't have a word for more than he and she, but we do."

This was odd. 

"Why?" Thor said, confused. It seemed to him that Blueskin could just pick what he wanted to be, and in fact he had, and that was fine. 

"Because we need a word! Because it means I'm extremely magic! Only one in every ten giants are like I am, and that's why we're all sent to the temple to be novices. Even orphans and bastards are permitted to join the novitiate, if they're born magical as this!"

"Ah, yes, how very Jotunheim. You need a special _reason_ not to be cruel to the orphans," Thor said. "Anyway I've never seen you do a single spell."

That little blue chin became, if possible, even more defiant.

"You've only known me for a few days. I used to be the best in the temple. It's just that the baby has my magic now."

"So the baby is...a he?" Thor decided.

Blueskin nearly shoved him off the horse.

"You're so stupid!" he shrieked. "You are so stupid and we should have just taken a caravan! We're never going to reach the town!"

"We will if you'll let me read the map!" Thor snarled back.

They did eventually reach the first town. But only after two more hours of arguing in this fashion. And that night they slept with their backs to each other, Thor freezing on the bed in his fur cloak, as befitting his station, and Blueskin on the hard floor, balanced on a nest of all the pillows and blankets he clearly didn't need half as much as Thor did.

Thor had given them to him anyway, against his better judgment, because of Blueskin's condition.

-

After that it was more hard riding. It took a week to reach the second town, and half a week after to reach the third. Thor's horse wasn't so fast as the long-legged ice dinosaurs, nor so suited to the climate, so the going was slow. And Thor's guide needed to take breaks. Thor realized that after that first day, for even with all the blankets Blueskin had woken paler than normal with horrible bags under his eyes and a clear stoop he hadn't had before. It pained him to ride on the horse for so long in his condition, and he admitted, a little shamefacedly, that this had made him more bad-tempered than usual.

"And needing to eat," he told Thor.

"Right, of course," Thor said, also shamefaced. Blueskin was eating for two. Obviously. 

"And — and to go. Holding it and being jostled around wasn't fun."

Blueskin was going for two as well.

So after that they veered off the main road more often, and made quick camp in the copses of fir trees that dotted this lower end of the mountain. There Thor would make sure Blueskin ate something, and himself as well, for that kept him in a better mood. Only then would they ride again.

This worked until the third town. Past the third town, the weather turned. Thor would not have thought it possible for it to become any colder, but it did. He had to turn off the main road, jump down from the horse, and bundle himself in the furs Frigga had sent along with the provisions. Even Blueskin was shivering. When Thor offered him a fur cloak he waved it off, however.

"It's too cold without it, but too hot with it," he complained.

Then they tried to turn back on to the road, but the temperature had dropped even further by then and the cold had a strange effect on the dinosaurs. The most ancient beasts on Jotunheim, ice woke them up and snow spurred them on. Now that it was truly freezing, they were pounding along at an alarming pace, and if Thor were to take the horse onto that road it would surely be crushed by the overeager beasts, and him and Blueskin with it.

And of course, the great caravans of giants on dinosaurs sloshed up a great deal of mud. Which swiftly got all over the horse and Blueskin, though Thor dove behind a fir in time and so saved his stepmother's furs.

They made it no further that day. And Thor was forced to dip into the other, stranger supplies Frigga had sent him. The Allmother had been named the Allmother for a reason. She was the most powerful of Odin's lovers, his truest equal, and so when Thor had sent her a missive explaining what he intended to do she'd known just what he'd need to scale the Snowpeak with a giant as his guide. Thor just had to lead Blueskin and the horse to a suitable spot, ideally a clearing with a frozen stream.

Soon enough he found one.

"We'll make camp here," he shouted at Blueskin, through the howling winds. He pulled out one of the great lovely orbs Frigga had sent him. She'd sent very clear instructions on how to use it, too. Blueskin's mud-soaked, shivering form regarded Thor with his usual bratty disdain as Thor placed the orb on the ground and then picked up his hammer, raising it above his head.

"What are you —"

He brought the hammer down with a clang, splitting the orb into two as he directed the storm, the thunder, all the power of an Asgard summer drenched in rain and lightning. He heard Blueskin's shriek as the power within the orb absorbed the storm, expanding, encompassing them, growing to a great shield that covered the length of the clearing like an opaque fishbowl. This fishbowl would be impenetrable to any outsiders, accessible only to Thor and his chosen companion and perhaps the wise eye of Heimdall, should Heimdall choose to look. It would be solidly invisible to anyone who intended to do them harm — be it passing dinosaur or worse, some spy sent on their trail from Laufey. Once the thunder and lightning cleared, the space in the orb would be pleasant and warm as Asgard for Thor, a cooler temperature for the Jotunn. And the orb's comfort and protection would last well until the morning.

This, Thor thought, was how one ought to make camp.

Blueskin's jaw dropped as he regarded the new space Thor had created. The stream was no longer ice-logged and sluggish, but brisk and summery. The firs were no longer snowcapped, but green and bright. Even the deep purple sky above them had given way to a summery blue.

"Let's bathe, eat, and rest," Thor told his dumbfounded companion. Then he set about stripping off his furs.

-

Before Blueskin would condescend to bathe himself, he went a little ways off from the stream and squatted, clearly having to go.

Thor let him, as nature had to have its way. And he didn't blame Blueskin if the little giant had no interest in sharing a bath with Thor, as that had gone disastrously the last time. 

Still, he couldn't help but squint through the fir trees at the flash of blue bottom in the undergrowth. This was the first time in days he'd seen Blueskin naked and the vision was still not displeasing, even if it did remind Thor of the strange two nights they had first spent together. That second night had rather ruined the memory of the lovely first. A pretty, obedient face was worth nothing if Thor had no assurance that Blueskin wasn't actually enjoying himself.

But what would it be like with this one, this third Blueskin? Not the vivid cobalt dream, not the terrorized slave. But the unapologetic, tyrannical little creature Thor was traveling with now?

 _I wish you'd worn this face_ , Thor realized. _This feels more natural than anything I saw before._

Soon enough Blueskin stomped back to the stream. He stripped off his own muddy clothes and waded in, and evidently the orb was doing its work because the water was just right for Thor and him both. Thor took the soap Frigga had sent them and held it out to him, but Blueskin scarcely noticed. His face was tight. He waded the opposite way, well past Thor to where some low tree branches grew over the stream and provided some cover. There he bent over.

It took Thor a moment to realize what he was doing. Kneading his breasts. 

He must be achingly full again. Thor's deviant prick gave a jolt, and he felt bad for it. Out of some sense of shame or duty, he called out, "Are you alright over there?"

Blueskin straightened up, his head whipping around, dark hair smacking the branches. The look he sent Thor communicated how very ridiculous he thought it was that Thor was even asking this question.

But after a few seconds, he said, haltingly, "Sig—a friend of mine. She thinks the babe might be close to the size of a proper giant babe. The father was a runt on the large end, so the child may well be meant to grow big, ten feet or more. And if that's the case then I'm making milk to nurse a full giant, and I'm not so big myself that that comes naturally to me."

This was the first time Blueskin had ever mentioned the father. It didn't escape Thor that the father hadn’t figured in their plans to decamp to the Ironwood. 

"Won't it hurt you?" he said.

"Letting the milk out? No. They're engorged," Blueskin said, with an unhappy sigh. "Too firm, almost. It's very uncomfortable."

"Ah," Thor said. "No. I meant giving birth to a full giant child."

Now Blueskin became listless, almost.

"I don't know. I've never tried."

Then he bit his lip.

"Your Loki was lucky, people said. They told him that a lot. So lucky to be given to a man perfectly sized to him."

"I suppose," Thor said. It was strange to hear someone who wasn't Jarnsaxa call the Jotunn prince by his nickname. It reminded Thor that the gorgeous, moody little giant before him had known his betrothed, and that made him feel even more ashamed, for some reason. Had Loptr poured out his troubles to Blueskin? His worry that he would not be enough for Odin, Thor, and Asgard?

"I don't know what he was like," Thor said now, as he soaped up his arms. "I was a fool not to visit him and find out. I know that now. Perhaps I would have liked him."

Blueskin smiled, like Thor had said something very funny.

"You wouldn't have. He could be unbearable. A prankster, arrogant, and very bitter, in his way. He always had to do as he liked, and he made big productions when his feelings were hurt, and they were often hurt over nothing. He could dish a trick or two, but couldn't take them."

This was a more honest assessment than Thor expected. It floored Thor a little. As he waded forward and handed Blueskin the soap, he said, "So you really did know him then."

Blueskin shrugged, then set about getting rid of the mud in his hair while Thor rinsed himself.

"My father had great affection for him, I think," Thor offered, after a few companionable minutes had passed.

Thor knew Odin had cared for Loptr, never mind the raw pain in Loptr's letters. Odin would not have sent Thor here if he hadn't.

Blueskin made an unimpressed sound.

"Affection? When did your father visit the prince? When did he give the prince more than impersonal orders relayed through his secretaries? When did he bother to show the prince a single glimmer of genuine interest?"

Thor, now rinsing his own hair, tossed back his head and looked up, frowning. 

"My father is a busy man," he said.

Personal letters and visits and attention weren't Odin's way. Thor barely even got any of that, and Thor was the heir. Thor himself had long hated this, of course, but it did not mean that Odin didn't care. Or that the Allfather should be maligned by this insolent little being. 

"Too busy to care for his bastard," Blueskin grunted, tossing the cake of soap on the bank now that he was done with it and crouching low in the water to submerge himself. When he resurfaced he added, "His giant runt bastard. Not even his heir. Just the heir's promised toy."

Thor straightened up now.

"Excuse me?" he said.

Loptr would not have been a toy. Loptr would have been his spouse, the highest of his lovers, whether Thor wanted it or not. And in any case, Thor did not want toys. Thor did not really want Loptr, either, but he would not have treated him like a _toy_. Just as he would not have treated Blueskin like a toy, had he known better. 

"He would have been my husband," Thor forced out.

Blueskin stood and shook himself off, then began wringing out his hair. 

"Aye. A husband, an Odinson, that Asgard only cares about now that he's dead. Very lucky, our prince."

"How would you know?" Thor snapped. "Are you one to pass judgment on Asgard? You of all people? You take coin for your cunt."

He regretted that as soon as he said it. It was the truth, of course, but a truth deployed with cruelty was as bad as a lie, wasn't it? And in any case this made Blueskin pale.

"Of course," he said stiffly. "You're right, Prince Thor."

Then he was scrambling up the bank and away, ignoring how Thor called his name.

Thor stayed in the stream for a few moments, breathing out hard. Trying to understand why he'd said that. He didn't want to be judged for his failures, nor see Odin judged either. He was trying to make it right, both his callous treatment of Blueskin and Asgard's obvious neglect of Loptr.

He followed Blueskin up the bank, stopping only to gather up one of the two discarded halves of the orb that had held Frigga's spell. He found the little giant sitting under a tree, massaging his heavy breasts again. When Blueskin saw Thor striding up he scrambled away, around the trunk, clearly wanting privacy.

Thor crouched on the side of the tree he'd vacated.

"I can help with that, you know," he offered, for lack of anything else to say.

Blueskin's reply was cold.

"Yes. I well know that."

Thor flushed, but recovered himself because he had to. It wouldn't do to be on the outs with his traveling companion.

"Do you want my help or not? I don't mean to suckle you. I don't mean anything sexual. But you're uncomfortable."

"I don't want to be milked like a cow," came Blueskin's strangled reply.

"Well, yes," Thor said. "But maybe you need to be."

There was a pause.

"I like it too much when you do it," Blueskin admitted.

Thor settled in on the other side of the tree from him and grinned, thinking of Blueskin's response the last time.

"I well know that," he told the little giant.

He heard Blueskin give a huff. Thor's grin deepened. He could just imagine the purple flush across Blueskin's cheeks right now.

"Well, do it yourself," Thor said. "But know that I don't judge."

Another pause.

"You don't?"

"Why should I?" said Thor. "You're a marvel. You're nurturing a giant inside you, possibly a big one. You have all this life packed into you. It's messy and uncomfortable and it leaks out of you, but what else is it supposed to do, my Blueskin? Stay packed in? Imagine what that would do to you."

Thor might be a god of fertility, but he had nothing on what Blueskin could do. And no matter what Thor thought of him, the little creature had withstood over a week of hard riding with a babe in his belly, and had plainly had a hard time of it in general, in a realm as ignorant and cruel as this. And yet still he was willing to travel to the Ironwood to seek his friend. 

"You’re making life," Thor told him, to reassure him. "Life bursts up, it grows, it swells and takes you by surprise. It should. It should do those things. It should blossom, it should be the spring, new and bountiful as you are—"

Blueskin's voice was small now.

"What do you mean, the spring? What's the spring?"

"You don't know what spring is?" Thor said.

It seemed the Allspeak wasn't the only language that had its limitations. 

Thor decided this was the time to crawl around and face his little giant. On the other side of the tree, Blueskin sat cross-legged, still looking miserable but looking like he was listening, too. When Thor ghosted a hand over his breast, he nodded.

Thor balanced the half-orb beneath his breast like a bowl, and rolled the nipple beneath his finger until the milk swelled. Blueskin hissed with relief. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Tell me about the spring," he said petulantly.

"The spring," Thor said, as he worked Blueskin, "is life clawing forth from the ground. It's wild, untamable, and very profane. The earth shoves green stems through the snow. Strange birds come to gorge themselves on berries, on worms, on bugs. Snails uncurl from the ground, and slugs, fat with purpose. Bees spread messages among the flowers. Everything is active and ready to be born. Do you really not have it here?"

Blueskin nodded, eyes still closed. 

"We don't," he said wistfully. "But I'd like to see it, this spring."


	12. Chapter 12

Following those first disastrous weeks on the road, it took two weeks more to reach the temple. 

Loki was well into his seventh month by then. He was clumsy and big and in constant pain from riding. He was sick of the strange aches and the sense of being perpetually off-balance. Sick too of the odd need to jam Thor's provisions into combinations that made Thor green. Thor's stepmother had sent the prince honey cakes. Thor had to watch Loki slather them in the fish oil he'd bought from an Utgard fishmonger. Thor did this politely, only visibly retching the very first time Loki tried it.

"I'm not sure I will ever eat honey cakes again," Loki heard him mutter.

But this just seemed to mean that he pressed the honey cakes on Loki more often. And his marvelous Asgardian paste that was made of salted beets, and his clam candies imported from Alfheim, and his cured Vanir bilgesnipe jerky. Actually, he seemed worried Loki wasn't eating enough, and set about trying to rectify it just about every time they stopped.

Sometimes he was also arrogant and short-sighted and prone to rage over small things. He made clear that he hated the ice dinosaurs and felt that their proper place in society ought to be as hunting trophies. He treated innkeepers and townsfolk with the condescending cheer of a man who knew himself to be a god, an approach that bizarrely seemed to work for him, as the cheer almost always counterbalanced the condescension. Loki was envious — he knew he himself had never made ego seem so charming. 

But even so. Thor was solicitous of the baby in a way hardly anyone else was. At every town they stopped in Loki was treated with respectable Jotunheim’s customary derision for fallen giants, and when innkeepers weren’t arguing that he belonged in the stables, tavern keepers were flatly refusing to serve him. Thor always took his side. He’d ensure that Loki had a bed. When Loki complained of thirst, he’d fetch Loki stream water or an Old Illi’s Nonalcoholic Fizzy Ale. And when passing giants shot Loki dirty looks, he’d address pointed, respectful questions to Loki’s stomach. Nothing that could make anyone more inclined to spit on Loki. Just loud, bizarre questions meant to show that Thor didn't share in the giants' opinions. 

You’ll be a credit to your mama and never stoop to riding one of those ugly, overpriced caravans, won’t you? You’ll be born with a keen sense of direction after this, I expect? You shall be a traveler, my little giant, won’t you? You’ll come out desperate for journeys and adventures, a brave little thing, don’t you think?

“Do you—do you want to feel?” Loki asked him hesitantly one night, when Thor had argued their way into a proper inn room and a day of all this amiable nonsense had the baby kicking. He’d thought Thor believed his belly too shameful to touch, but clearly he’d misread that, because Thor seemed constantly delighted with his belly. 

“May I?” Thor said, beaming, hand already outstretched.

Loki nodded. 

Thor passed a large hand over his stomach. His touch was so hot it made Loki shiver, but the babe seemed to love it, kicking up a storm. 

“A warrior,” Thor decided, based on absolutely nothing. 

After that he couldn’t seem to stop asking to touch the baby, mostly because he seemed to be under the impression that by this he could glean more and more information about it. By the time they reached the temple Thor the mad prophet had told Loki that the child was a pillar of strength, a brilliant little tactician, sure to be a decent mage if you were into that, culinarily discerning as a Vanir high chef, possessed of an elusive humor that rivaled that of the dark elves, gamely bold as a light elf, imperturbable as the good earth of Midgard, dramatically inclined as the wicked queen of Hel (Thor made clear this was a good thing in the child and a bad thing in the queen of Hel), merry as a fire demoness, rare and wondrous as a loyal dwarf smith, and fully as miraculous as any babe in the whole of Asgard. 

Loki agreed with all of this, for all that he hadn’t ever traveled beyond Utgard until now and so couldn’t fact check. It all felt correct. Why not? It was a nice thought. His babe was a marvel and deserved every advantage, and anyone with sense could see that. But after all this lovely ridiculousness, reaching the temple was a crash down to earth. 

In the white expanse of the countryside, the black spires of the temple, curving out like two horns, woke all of Loki’s nerves. At least in Utgard the temple spires were only two of many, set against the backdrop of citadel and city. Loki’s eyes could pass over them easily. And Loki himself could mostly keep to Nal's dens in the lower city, with the rest of the whores, and avoid crossing any religious types. But this temple curved over the mountainside and cast a shadow over the entire neighboring village. The image was a stark reminder that even this far out Laufey’s power could still hold sway. 

“I’m pregnant and unwedded and that may pose a problem,” he muttered to Thor, when Thor pulled them off of the main road for the village. “I’ll stay with the horse and make camp. I shouldn’t go there.”

He couldn’t. Any number of the nuns and priests he’d grown up around might be posted here. They might know him for who he was. Or they might not, and that would be worse. 

“We don’t need you to go in,” Thor assured him. “I expect the spies that have been following us since Utgard think I’ll be stupid enough to force you to be humiliated by the priests or something. So it will be more entertaining to leave you safe and camped in one of my stepmother’s protective orbs while I go in and replenish some supplies.”

“Spies?” Loki said. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll lose them,” Thor said, with far more confidence than Loki thought was wise. “I’ve been followed by spies before.”

He left Loki in one of his magical campsites and went away with the horse. Loki passed the next few hours eating the last of the jerky and peering anxiously into the snowy countryside beyond the orb. Had the spies seen how freely he conversed with Thor now? Had they told his brothers? What were Helblindi and Byleistr likely to do if they found out? The dread made it difficult to breathe. He had to sit on a muddy boulder, trying to comfort himself by clutching the signet ring he usually kept hidden in his rucksack. He hoped desperately that somehow no spy existed that had yet sent news to Utgard. 

What would Thor do, if his brothers found a way to reveal Loki’s identity? How enraged would he be? 

Now it occurred to Loki that the longer this lie went on, the more wedded he would have to be to it. Right now, they could pretend that Loptr yet lived in the Ironwood and that Blueskin was nothing more than a whore willing to guide Thor to his betrothed. But if his brothers intervened, they could throw off the entire story. And once they reached the Ironwood and Loptr didn’t appear — what then? Loki had told Angrboda and Jarnsaxa how to find Svadilfari. Svad would say or do anything for money, and he and Loki had made their peace, despite his sexual proclivities. So the plan was to have him back Loki’s assertion. Prince Loptr had shared a few kisses and then nobly killed himself for the shame of this. There was no body because suicides were not preserved — temple law forbade it.

Surely after scaling the Snowpeak, Prince Thor would be too tired to look beyond this and would happily accept the testimony of a witness like Svad. Then Thor could simply go home. Right?

 _But what if he shouldn’t?_ Loki thought uneasily. _What if he should stay in Jotunheim? At court? If he spends even a single moment more in the presence of my brothers, they might well tell him everything._

And then what? Would Thor demand that Loki be dragged up on temple charges? Loki was pathetically grateful that Laufey had at least given him a choice. Banishment and the loss of his identity were preferable to keeping his name and being punished by spiked barrel.

When Thor finally stomped back, Loki had nearly decided to tell him everything. But Thor was frightfully grim, mouth a thin line, knuckles white on the handle of his hammer. 

“That is no temple of purity!” he roared, nearly throwing himself from the horse. “That is a temple to — to shame!”

Ah. Thor must have stopped in at the hour they publicly flogged the criminally indecent. Or perhaps when they branded orphan children as belonging to Ymir, branded them as slaves to serve the clergy, and made the children thank them for it. Or maybe even there had been a trial going on — the priesthood was fond of those, for there were always citizens accusing other citizens of improper sexual acts. 

“No wonder you giants have such hang-ups!” Thor continued, swinging his hammer at a tree and felling it with a terrible crack. “That little creature couldn’t have been out of his boyhood—“

“Hands burnt with live coals for masturbating?” Loki guessed. 

He knew he was lucky to have been born a prince. It was only that that had meant Laufey gave him a choice at all, that had saved him. Laufey’s desire to keep any impurity from tainting the name of the royal house. 

“Hands?” Thor roared. "Face! By his own father! For _coming unsheathed too young_!"

"Ah," Loki said. "Yes. We don't appreciate early bloomers on Jotunheim."

The sheath was a mark of modesty and innocence. If you gained the ability to drop low too young, then you were as bad as any randy Aesir, and there must be something wrong with you.

Thor, for his part, continued to demolish trees.

"What do they do to girls and women?" he demanded.

"Worse," Loki admitted.

Thor had found some more supplies, for the horse was laden down, and now Loki thought it wise to creep up and add the food bag that had once contained the jerky. It was something to do other than simply watch Thor terrify spruces and firs.

"It was better before Laufey came to power, or so I'm told," Loki explained to his furious companion. "My mother worshipped Ymir very differently. So did many of the older clergy. But Laufey — he has a strict interpretation of Ymir's precepts, and he cleaned house when he became king."

Thor stopped brutalizing the local foliage.

"Your mother?" he said sharply. "Who was your mother?"

Loki could have kicked himself. This was not the time to reveal his identity, not when Thor was in a rage like this. 

"Just a nun," he said quickly. "She joined the temple in the days before Laufey. But when Laufey took over she sold herself into marriage to get out, moved up to the Ironwood, and had me, of course."

"And still let you join that madness Laufey calls religion?" Thor said.

"Oh," said Loki. "Yes. Well. I'm a magic user, so after Laufey decreed all magic users had to serve Ymir, we didn't have much choice. And she died before I came of age, so she never knew about it. Actually, they're all dead — my family. You won't find them up in the Ironwood anymore."

"Except for your old nana, who lives yet in Utgard," Thor said slowly. "And the ones that cast you out a few months ago. They're alive too."

"Right. Yes," Loki said, feeling desperate and stupid. "Well, nana's actually just what I call the woman who delivered me. Old Jotunheim custom, that. Calling the midwife your nana. And of course the ones that cast me out I don't consider family, personally, and anyway they've all moved down to Utgard, so that's what I mean when you say we won't meet any of them in the Ironwood."

Amazingly, wonderfully, Thor now nodded like all of this made sense. Then he turned away and began tossing his hammer from hand to hand.

"I had a plan," he said. "There's an illusion spell I had worked for us in Asgard, one that would take on your image and mine and seem to walk about —"

"The spell can work that far from the caster?" Loki said. He'd always wanted to learn complex illusions. That and shapeshifting. But of course the temple frowned on both, and he'd only ever been able to teach himself smaller tricks.

Thor nodded. "I was going to throw it up near the temple, to distract our two spies —"

"How do you know there are two?" Loki asked.

"While you sleep I commune with our watchman," Thor said, pointing up at the heavens like this made sense. "Heimdall the All-Seeing. I asked him to give me a headcount last night and he reported that he's spotted two following us from Utgard, and has been tracking them ever since."

"Have they sent any news back to Utgard?" 

"No," Thor said.

Loki sighed, relieved.

"Good plan," Thor said. "Simple plan. Distract them, and we make off. Only now — now I think of that boy. And other boys. _You_. And Loptr and the girls and women. All of you, raised with these stupid, senseless customs. And you know what? We're not going to do that plan anymore. Now get on the horse."

Something in his tone told Loki not to argue. Loki scrambled on the horse, though he was very clumsy about it. 

Thor hefted up his hammer, smiling without an ounce of merriment.

"Does Laufey want sinners punished?" he roared at the heavens. "Then by Odin, shall I have the sinners punished!"

-

Loki had never experienced a summer thunderstorm, for there were no summers on Jotunheim. And after that day, he never wanted to experience one again. The heat was excruciating, the flashes of lightning so terrifying he nearly wet himself. He clung to Thor as Thor urged the horse through the storm, and all around them dinosaurs keened and reared, villagers screamed. The great sparks of light Thor called down illuminated the temple, the shrieking nuns and priests and parishioners streaming out. All was chaos. Giants fell from the caravans and collapsed, wailing with fright and pain. Whoever the spies were, they were sure to become lost in this pandemonium, but Loki felt no relief over that. Loki was sobbing outright by the time Thor rode them out of the storm. 

Thor stopped when they reached a triple-fork in the road. Though the paths weren't marked, Loki knew from Anrgboda's precise notes on the map that the wildest, most unkempt one in the middle was the one to the Ironwood. This path was also the only path that didn't have giants streaming to and fro and shouting on it, pointing at the bizarre occurrence that had enveloped the temple below them.

Here it was only raining, heavily enough to wash out the roads and upset a great many dinosaurs, but not so heavily that Loki felt like every drop set his skin on fire.

"Which way?" Thor demanded.

Loki pointed a shaking finger at the unkempt central path. Thor urged the horse along it, galloping away from the storm he seemed to have every indication of keeping right where it was.

"When will it stop?" Loki said, wiping at his cheeks with a hand. “Your storm?”

Thor's mouth thinned.

"When I wish it to," he said.

"Oh," Loki said.

He wanted to ask Thor if _they_ could stop. He felt like he needed to vomit. But he couldn't seem to form the words. 

So this was Thor's rage, his real rage. Not sly, calculating, and malicious, but godly, all-encompassing, and catastrophic. 

He could never find out what a trick Loki was playing on him. Never. Loki did not wish to be the target of such unhinged power. 

Thor urged the horse on. And on. His rain flooded the path and prevented anyone from following or tracking them, but he kept the temperature cool enough that Loki felt pitifully lucky. When it was nearly nightfall and they'd made it a good distance from the temple, Thor finally stopped the horse and slid down to set up camp. Loki, too, slid down. He backed away to a spot where he could be away from Thor, just a little bit away, just for now.

He was still shaking despite himself. He was quiet as Thor made another little fishbowl-glen for them and began a small fire pit for himself. Loki spread his ragged cloak on the ground and crawled on top of it, only wanting to sleep and yet for the first time since he'd met Thor afraid to sleep with Thor there.

He heard Thor approach him.

"Blueskin," Thor said.

Loki stayed quiet. He'd pretend he was already sleeping. That was what he'd do.

-

When he woke in the morning, Thor had killed a dinosaur.

Not a tame one. A wild one, one of the smaller winged ones that it was no use to tame. But it smelled delicious, Thor's roasted breakfast, so Loki was coaxed into coming closer to the fire pit. Thor had stripped the dinosaur of its leathery skin and feathers and cooked it, then slathered it in some of the spices his stepmother had sent him from Asgard. He put most of it between two pieces of flatbread. He held this out to Loki. Loki's mouth watered. He reached for the top piece of flatbread.

"Not like that," Thor said. "You eat it all together. Just like this, like how I've arranged it. It's a sandwich."

Again he shoved it at Loki. Loki took it and retreated, sitting back on the ground. Then he bit into Thor's creation just the way it was, and found sheer, utter satisfaction in the gamy tang of spiced dinosaur and the plain filling nature of the flatbread. This was good. This was so, so good. Dinosaur juice ran down his fingers and wrists and he licked it off before biting off more. 

While he chewed, Thor wandered over to the other side of the pit, where he'd piled the saddlebags. He pulled a few things out and brought them over to Loki.

"This is my ceremonial cloak," he said. "Not so warm as the furs, and useless to me out here. There will only be more of a chill as we go higher up, so I thought you could wear it."

Without waiting for an answer, he draped it over Loki's shoulders.

Then he kneeled and began unlacing Loki's boots, like he was not a prince of Asgard. He said, "I have spare boots as well. It would not have been proper to let you take Loptr's clothes, but I can see you have need."

Loki let Thor gently maneuver his legs, pull off his too-small boots, and give him ones that were too large instead.

When he was done, Thor straightened up. He looked pained.

"Also," he said awkwardly. "I am sorry. I can see I frightened you yesterday. Is there more I might do to make it right? Help you let out milk, perhaps? Or get you — no. We're out of honeycakes. But we have more clam candies, I think. And if you like we can rest a bit before heading to the road again. Just tell me what you need, and I will give it to you."

Loki needed Thor to stop that storm, if he hadn't already. Loki needed Thor to call another one, so he could see the terrible power his once-intended actually possessed. Loki had been promised to this? To this omnipotent, this creature of such might? 

He shivered again, just once, thinking of it. And now that his fright was dissipated a bit, his cunt announced its interest, slick and perverse. His mind recoiled, but that useless, sinful cunny had no sense, and it seemed the storm had only made Loki’s stupider parts want Thor all the harder. 

He shifted around and tried to will himself to calm down. He also finished his sandwich before he answered Thor's question. 

"I'd like to see the illusion you talked about," he told Thor.

He wanted to see more magic, period. Not just the storm, though the further away he was from that the more he could have kicked himself for not examining and trying to understand it better. But more like Thor's magic camping orbs, too. Jotnar magic was based in runes and sometimes stones or bits of glass and feathers. It was all small, clever little workings. Very high priests were permitted to learn potions. And all magic on Jotunheim, no matter how small, was sacred and special.

But Thor treated magic like it was no great thing. Even though his was so much more advanced, so much more powerful. Thor didn't seem to value magic so much as see it as one more easy tool at his disposal. Loki was horribly, horribly envious. To Loki magic was huge, a piece of him he'd been obsessively devoted to developing back when he'd had the use of it. This had actually been Odin’s plan for Loki, anyway, and had also endeared him to the temple priests, somewhat. Jotunheim might be rural and backwards compared to the high technology of Asgard, but they appreciated power, or at least they did when power was pressed into service.

Loki had always dreamed of doing more with it. What would he have been like if he'd been raised to see magic as commonplace? As a casual birthright? What might he have been able to do?

When Thor called up the illusion for him, Loki studied it for a long, long time.

It was light. It was made of _light_. Whoever had woven the trick had laid out a working just the same way Loki had once made his with glass and feathers, but they had used light itself to do it, light that played on Loki's eyes to form the mirage of a second Thor and a second Loki.

Loki's first desperate thought was, _could I ever learn to do that?_

His second: _oh Ymir, I'm so ugly. I'm so hideously bright blue. And where have my markings gone? I’m really just a very vivid belly walking about on skinny limbs._

He offered neither thought to Thor. Instead he just said, a little bitterly, "How wonderful it must have been to born among magic like this."

Thor was now clearing the fire pit. He paused and said, "Yes. I've often thought so myself." 

Loki tore himself away from the illusion long enough to send Thor a glare.

But Thor clarified.

"I was born on Midgard. My mother is Jord of the Earth. I was born in her rough caves and raised in her overgrown forests and fields. Midgard was, if you can believe it, even more backwards than Jotunheim. Still is. But when I turned seven, my father elevated me to his heir and called me to Asgard."

Thor smiled. It was a stunning smile, almost rakish.

"I pitched a fit. I was little more than a savage in those days. But I soon learned to be honored by my place, as Asgard's prince."

"You are the luckiest of Odin's children, then," Loki said, not without some rancor.

Thor shrugged.

"I'm not the unluckiest. That's clearly—"

"Loptr."

"He's had a hard time of it," Thor said. "But no. I was going to say Balder."

"Who?" Loki said.

He'd heard of Bragi and Hodur, princes living on Vanaheim and Alfheim, respectively. Of horrible Tyr, a regent on Svartalfheim. Of Hela, even more horrible than Tyr. He'd never heard of a Balder, and said as much.

"Ah," Thor said. "Well. You are young. And I suppose they speak of him less and less. He was Frigga's son. He wasn't born powerful enough to be the heir. He was born sick, marked to die. I met him when I was first called to Asgard. He was a young man, wasting away in Eir's healing hall. But he was very kind. In a better world, he would have lived and been the heir-apparent. He would have enjoyed doing his duty by Asgard. He enjoyed everything. He never raised any complaints and was always obedient and sweet. Everyone loved him."

Loki thought he sounded rather dull but decided not to say so, because Thor was by now looking very wistful.

"Balder would not have fallen prey to Byleistr and Helblindi's wager," Thor said. "And he would have had more sense than to bed you, my Blueskin, without first ascertaining who you were and what you were owed. And he would have gladly visited Jotunheim often, to get to know Loptr. Balder would never have neglected his betrothed."

"If his sole claim to fame is being very sweet and dying, then I don't think Loptr would have liked him," Loki said tartly, for as bitter as he felt over Thor and Thor's power, he found he would have liked being promised to a perfect saint even less. "Loptr was never dutiful. Balder would have bored him."

Thor gave a morose chuckle.

"Then let us hope that Loptr yet lives, and appreciates what he's getting instead."

He flexed one glorious muscle, unabashedly egotistical now. To see that, Loki wanted to hit him. 

Or kiss him. That was quite a muscle. 

Loki settled for coming very close to him and sitting by his side as Thor finished clearing the fire. Thor shot him a victorious little look.

"You've forgiven me."

"You have to call away that storm," Loki said. “You’re harming everyone in that village.”

"I did," said Thor. "After about seven hours."

Loki winced to think of all the confused, burnt giants that must be stumbling about, then.

"Was it the cloak and boots that changed your mind, or my sad tale about Balder, or seeing my muscles just now?"

It was the magic of the storm itself. And a little bit the muscles.

"None of the above," Loki said. "It was the sandwich."

Again Thor flashed him one of those heartstopping smiles. Now he flexed his other arm teasingly. Loki, unable to help himself, darted out a hand and traced the firm curve.

"Ah," Thor said. "So it _was_ the muscles."

He moved in so that his long golden hair brushed Loki's collarbone, the fluttery feel of it making Loki breathe in. Thor's own breath was on his lips, then Thor's lips were on his lips. Then his arms were around Loki, those magnificent arms, and his heat left Loki feeling a bit dizzy.

Despite the heat, Thor's kiss was sweet. Soft. Loki trembled into it, almost unable to handle such softness. 

"You're very beautiful yourself, my Blueskin," Thor said, against his lips.

"I'm not," Loki mumbled, for though he often wanted to boast about his looks, more often he knew he really couldn't.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No, I'm too—"

"You're _not_ big as a house."

"—blue and too skinny — wait," Loki said. "What?"

Thor pulled away from him, red-faced. He scratched his head.

"Er. Sorry. I thought you were going to say, you know, 'I'm big as a house,' or 'I'm just so fat.'"

"That would be good," Loki said, confused. "Big is good. All the loveliest giantesses are big as houses, like nurse, and my mother. Angrboda was, and remains so, remains quite a beauty. Lovely people are large. Look at you, you're large with muscle. While I'm just large with baby, and soon enough I won't even be that."

Thor frowned, then bent his head quickly to press kisses to Loki's belly.

"We shall have to agree to disagree, when it comes to your beauty," he said. 

Then he pressed Loki back against the ground to kiss him better, to appreciate the swell of his stomach and his breasts. These attentions made Loki slick up again, a bit. Beneath his ragged clothes, his cock woke now, blooming up to hit his belly. Thor smelled like the fire, like his flashes of lightning, an electric and dangerous smell. He ran strong hands along the base of Loki's breasts, then tweaked Loki's nipples and made Loki squeak. When Loki's milk blossomed out, Thor lapped at it, his tongue rough and hot and pleasant.

"I owe you more than a thousand, my Blueskin," he said. "I owe you — I think I owe you the spring."

Loki squirmed, rubbed his folds through his leggings. Tried to get his cock to bob just right against his hard belly.

"You're always talking nonsense," he mumbled.

"No," Thor protested. "This is sense. You're worth more than I could ever pay."

"You don't really need to pay me," Loki managed.

He didn't. He really didn't. Loki was a sinful little slut for sure now, because he knew he would let Thor do as he liked for free. Thor's burning fingers slipped beneath his tunic and caught the tip of his cock. Thor began to stroke him. Loki heard himself keening. He rubbed his cunt desperately and thought of what it would be like to have Thor's spend burning him up so deliciously from the inside, dripping out of him, sticky on his thighs. Thor who could call storms. 

"I don't want to do anything so small as pay you," Thor said, muttered between more licks and sucks of Loki. "I want to give you the spring."

He jerked Loki faster, demanding more of Loki's pleasure. Loki was wailing outright now. He couldn't seem to put enough of his fingers in his cunt. When Thor tugged at his nipples with his mouth, it was a flash of pain-pleasure so intense Loki could barely think.

"Please," Loki begged. " _Please_."

"Go on," Thor said. "Come for me, my Blueskin. Go on, love."

And he kept a hand kneading Loki's breast, another working Loki's prick, his mouth tugging such an aching, heavy weight out of Loki. Loki crooked his own fingers enough that they provided the final element, that sensation of fullness that he wished was Thor's cock instead. He came with such intensity, came with cock _and_ cunt. And Thor rubbed his face against Loki's breasts with wild delight, golden and pleased, as Loki shook through the pleasure.

-

Thor did wait before forcing them onto the road again. 

Actually, Thor did better than wait. Thor spread a fur out on the ground and they laid upon it for a bit, and he even let Loki play with his lovely golden hair, which was something Loki had been secretly longing to do ever since he'd first seen it but hadn’t wanted to admit to. 

But soon enough the joys came to an end. Thor squinted at the bright purple midday sky and said, with obvious regret, "Come, my Blueskin. We should take to the road again. Once we reach the Ironwood, we shall have our work cut out for us searching for my intended."

 _Right_ , Loki thought.

Thor's intended. Prince Loptr.

He knew perfectly well he was Prince Loptr, and yet suddenly he desperately hated Prince Loptr. Why should Thor search for Loptr, when Thor had a Blueskin right here? What had Loptr ever done for Thor? Thor didn't even know anything about Loptr. What would Thor think, if he learned Loptr had cried as he'd choked on cocks? Learned that Loptr had spread his cunt and let giants finger him for pennies? Thor only liked the thought of pursuing Loptr because he knew none of this, because Loptr was a royal prize Thor could take home to glorious Asgard, a lesser prince born purely to show off the might of the heir. 

_I'm not that, or at least the me he knows isn't_ , Loki thought. _I think I might be something he actually_ wants.

But would Thor want him if he knew that all Loki was, really, was Loptr defiled? He would be angry for the lie. Dangerously angry. 

_And I don’t want to belong to him,_ Loki thought. _I'm just so perverse I want him to fuck me. I liked it too much, when he did it. And I'm ruined enough that I want it again. That's all this is._

That had to be it. 

"What's wrong, my Blueskin?" Thor asked, as he bound up the fur they'd been lying on and stuffed it into the saddlebags. "Come. We shall make good time for the rest of the day. I can feel it."

"Nothing's wrong," Loki said, pulling Thor's cloak around him and clutching it tight. "Nothing at all."


	13. Chapter 13

Thor knew that, were he a more dutiful prince, he would be focusing on his betrothed. But how could he think of Loptr? He had Blueskin to worry about.

After Thor showed him Frigga's illusion, Blueskin became obsessed with trying to understand it. Though the little giant didn't have the use of his magic, he took to scratching runes in the dirt of their campsites, on his hands and knees on the ground, nattering on about this or that magic and occasionally cursing how slowly his belly made him work. He could fill easily thirty feet square with big messy scrawls and calculations, magical workings that he forbade Thor from crossing or marring in any way. Thor, who walked where he pleased, ignored this at first, to his peril. Blueskin would retaliate with screams and barbs, ice-snakes in Thor's shoes and frogs in the saddlebags. More than once Thor threatened to put him over his knee and spank him.

"You won't," Blueskin snapped. "I'm pregnant."

Even Thor had to agree that this was a solid argument against spanking. After that he became more careful about messing up Blueskin's runes. And, truth be told, Blueskin was rather endearing when he was blabbing on about light and illusion. At least he wasn't creeping about gathering frogs to spring on Thor at some inopportune time. 

He also remained an easier creature to tolerate when he was fed. This Thor didn't begrudge him. With the way his child grew, Blueskin had to be ravenous most of the time, and when he was eating he was less mischievous or calculating, so focused was he on his food.

"It's very nice not to go hungry," he told Thor offhandedly once, when Thor had had the success to bag some passing dinosaurs for their evening meal. "I never realized until my family cast me out how awful hunger is. I never thought I would eat dinosaur, like a commoner, but I have had days where if you'd served me forty or fifty I could have swallowed them in a blink."

"These are velociraptors," Thor told him, patting his head lightly. "Little dinosaurs. My friend Volstagg would say forty and fifty are, at best, a paltry appetizer."

"Oh, I'm glad you killed the velociraptors," Blueskin said. "With the way they run, stretched forward greedily, they remind me of how the temple priests would descend on misbehaving novices."

He imitated the run, despite the gravid swell of his belly, and the imitation was so accurate it had Thor roaring with laughter.

Blueskin could be funny. More than once Thor caught him muttering things at his child, rather disturbing things, truth be told, but still funny. Never tell a secret to someone you don't intend to kill, my sweet. Never hit a beast when he can see you coming (this very calmly while watching Thor fight a dinosaur for their evening meal, for the dinosaur could see Thor coming and so Thor was clawed rather badly). Never bring a hammer to a hunting expedition — see how Thor can barely skin the bear he's killed?

"If you'd help it would go faster, lazy thing," Thor growled then. "You're leading that child down the wrong path."

"It's my child," Blueskin said. "I can take it down whatever path I like."

Thor wondered who had led Blueskin down his path. What family had spawned this creature, what parents had turned their backs on him, despite his evident need for care and guidance? Blueskin was evasive about his past, but Thor could discern some things. He knew Asgardian runes and had never gone hungry as a child, so he came from a line with some money and education. In fact, he understood Frigga's illusion spell better than Thor himself did, which meant he had had the time to study magic very carefully. This suggested he might even be a noble, for only Jotunheim's nobles appeared to be permitted to occasionally forego religious pursuits for hobbies like high magic. 

_Whatever family it was, they abandoned you,_ Thor decided, _so they are not worthy of you._

Blueskin might be a brat, but he was a clever, engaging brat. He could have been a force to reckon with, had he been loved and supported instead of outcast and made to sell himself to survive.

_And then,_ Thor thought ruefully, _not even paid._

Thor hadn't actually bought him, of course, but he still felt some responsibility for whatever had passed between Blueskin and the princes Helblindi and Byleistr. Were Thor able to fix it with a thousand gold, he'd do so, but he didn't know what _it_ was, let alone how to fix it. 

At least it was no trouble to bring his traveling companion pleasure. Thor could do that. Now that they were beyond the temple the towns were few and far between, which meant more nights camping together under the stars, as the terrain grew colder and colder. Though Frigga's orbs modulated the temperature for them, Thor found himself using the excuse of the weather to throw their bedrolls close together. Blueskin raised no complaints at this. When Thor would reach out a hand to coax out his hidden cock, he would make a sweet sound and give himself over. Thor spent nights tonguing his folds until he shrieked, other nights with Blueskin sitting between his legs while Thor's cock drooled on his back and Thor played with his breasts from behind. Thor cared less about fucking him than about getting Blueskin to enjoy himself. For he often heard Blueskin say offhand, troubling things: 

_Sometimes I think the babe is so big to punish me. I've always liked sin and wickedness, little wonder I ended up like this. Oh, it will hurt to ride today, I can feel it, but it's what I brought on myself._

Blueskin had internalized his fair share of his people's religious nonsense. Thor did his best to cure him of it by telling the little giant the truth: that he was lovely, his body was lovely, and his pleasure was lovely. 

Thor especially liked sucking him. Not just his breasts for the taste of his milk, but sucking on his cock too, and tasting his cunt. He could get Blueskin's juices on his beard and come from the Jotunn's shrieks alone. Blueskin's favorite seemed to be Thor's mouth on his cock and three fingers in his cunt, a combination that was invariably enough to get him coming but that always, always, had him asking for more.

"Please, please stretch me," he'd beg, wild and flushed.

Thor would pull his mouth off of Blueskin's cock.

"Stretch you where?"

Blueskin would squirm and kick his legs about until Thor stilled them with his free hand.

"If you make me say it we can stop! I don't need to say it! You're a bully, making me say it!"

"Oh, a bully, am I?" Thor would say. He would remove one finger and watch the giant howl and try to bear down on him. 

"Where do you want it? Where, my Blueskin?"

"In my cunny," Blueskin would sob. "Right there. Please, right there."

That he often avoided saying the more vulgar _cunt_ would seem sad to Thor, for it was a mark of his youth. Blueskin was only barely an adult, and though he played at being worldly and jaded, Thor knew that on Asgard he would have only just been entering the training rings. Blueskin should be eagerly departing the house of his mother, not preparing to become a mother himself. 

For his part, Thor wasn't exactly proud of this infatuation. Thor had watched his friend Fandral fall all over young things, and had wondered what the appeal could be, for until now Thor had exclusively been drawn to those older than he. His eye would linger on warriors whose comeliness was enhanced by the scars of battles that far predated his birth, on stern and wise men like Heimdall, or else on fierce fighters like beautiful Brunnhilde, the commander of the Valkyries. Blueskin was beautiful, but he was no warrior. Jotnar mages were not trained to fight, possibly, and Thor felt that this was a shame because fighting was its own pleasure. The thrill, sweat, contact, and danger. The way it let one own oneself and one's body completely. The ability to protect oneself could be empowering, and Thor thought it would only benefit Blueskin to gain that ability.

If Loptr was alive, Thor would have to take him back to Asgard for his safety. Blueskin would be left behind on this dreary realm. Moody, bratty, fanciful, and deeply alone.

_Perhaps I will visit,_ Thor often thought. _Yes. I can visit, now and then._

And in the meantime he could teach Blueskin some battle maneuvers, though the giant kicked up a fuss about Thor on doing so, even though Thor thought it was very gracious of him. He even gave Blueskin a very fine knife Frigga had sent him. 

"I can't learn how to fight!" Blueskin cried, waving the knife about, nearly taking out his own eye, and so proving he did rather desperately need lessons in how to use the knife. "How stupid are you? I'm about to pop, I can't start learning how to fight now!"

"You can't start learning with a babe sucking at your breast," Thor growled. "Now you can practice some simple defensive measures, and I will be very gentle with you so you can learn. Or else I can drop my hammer on your legs and you can spend the night knowing what it is to be overpowered and unable to fight back."

That was his fear, as they went deeper into this wild, dangerous country. Days were colder, the road was rockier, and the occasional travelers they passed far less savory than the merchants and pilgrims who'd frequented the earlier towns and temples. The beasts, too, were less tamable. And Thor was taking a pregnant runt into this territory, a pregnant runt who had not a jot of sense in his head and apparently intended to live here.

He was so relieved when Blueskin finally mastered one defense — really mastered it, cleverly catching Thor by surprise — that Thor hardly cared that it meant Blueskin had stabbed him.

"Are we done?" said Blueskin. He examined the knife as Thor staggered to the saddlebags, bleeding from his side. "You know. This is very fine. It's easily worth a great deal, though I'm no weaponsmith."

Thor rooted among Frigga's store of healing potions and managed to locate one that could stitch up a deep side wound.

"Consider it yours and my debt settled, then. It was a gift from the Allmother herself."

As Thor healed himself, breathing out hard to bear the pain, Blueskin settled himself cross-legged on the ground and began tracing the fine, jeweled runes in the knife's hilt.

"She is a great mage and her knives are unparalleled," he said. "How is it that even a being like that must bend at the knee to the Allfather, settle for being his plaything?"

Thor felt the pain recede and confused outrage fill its place.

"His what?"

Blueskin's answer was stiff and petulant, like he didn't understand why Thor was upset.

"Well. It's like Loptr and you. Loptr was promised to be yours. Frigga was promised to be Odin's."

Thor attempted to stay calm rather than rage, for it had been such a lovely morning, with the successful stabbing, and, really, he was beginning to see that many of Blueskin's offensive assumptions were rooted in the giants' customary ignorance. Of course, often Blueskin was offensive simply to be offensive. But still. Sometimes it was ignorance.

"What exactly do you think it means to be promised to the royal line of Asgard?"

Blueskin shrugged.

"It's a marriage," he said. "You know. The babe is born, and if you have no money you post it right away, how healthy it is, the price you want. Or you wait until you need money. People are often posted for sale when a parent dies, if an older sibling needs some money to settle debts. Unless you're wellborn, that is. If you're wellborn and have money you wait until your child comes of age, and then advertise how much you're willing to give for a healthy, attractive person for it. 

"There is some haggling. There is the expected investigation into the child being sold, to ensure the family is good and religious and the babe well-formed and a good size for the purchaser. As the child grows older it is also periodically inspected, to make sure it stays pure and that it is forming nicely. Always sheathed appropriately if male, large and lovely and never touched if female. 

"When the promised child's price is finally paid it is transferred to its new house, the marriage consecrated to Ymir. Then there is of course the probationary period, for if it's female and does not bleed when taken, or male and so clearly eager to be bedded that it must be perverse, then the child is placed on trial at the temple so the marriage can be quickly undone. Sometimes people are only promised when older, they advertise themselves because they need money to settle a debt or something, and that is more complicated. And sometimes people buy more than one spouse, if they are really rich. But I assume that is much the same on Jotunheim as anywhere else, really."

Thor stared at him. Thor attempted to process the fact that, on Jotunheim, marriage was apparently slavery.

Blueskin was still inspecting the knife.

"I'm not going to post _my_ child for marriage," he added.

Thor found his voice.

"You think Frigga was sold at birth, poked like a cow for sale throughout her youth, and subjected to some sort of ridiculous marriage probation?" he said. "I cannot imagine the Allmother putting up with any of that! Or indeed, any creature from any culture with sense!"

"Then why was Loptr promised to you?" Blueskin snapped, tone growing ugly.

Thor had no idea, but also, he was quite sure Loptr had not been made to suffer _that_. Or at least he hoped Loptr had never suffered it. 

"On Asgard, marriage is a meeting of two minds," he said. "It happens because the participants want it to happen. Yes, Frigga's was more complicated, but not because she was purchased like a show pony. Merely because she was to be Allmother.”

And because she had been a commoner, not of the royal line of Bor. Her name had been Freya Understairs then, and she'd been working as a Vanir scullery maid when Odin had first met her. She had not been immediately accepted as his bride, as a princess might have been, for in those days older ways had held sway and one born so low as Freya had been forced to prove her magic and capabilities before being accorded a royal name and royal status. But even so. She had not been sold. Her wishes had mattered. 

“She was one of Odin's four lovers," Thor explained. "When Odin indicated that he wished to marry her above the other three, she was taken into the royal house to meet his parents. She then spent months learning magic under Bestla, until she was deemed to be powerful enough by the previous Allmother. She then met with each of Odin's other three prospective brides and demonstrated her suitability to each of them, to Eir of Asgard, Jord of Midgard, and Farbauti of Jotunheim; and upon impressing them was given a gift by each. Then she met with Bor and played nine games of tafl to show her cunning and strategy, one game for each of the realms—"

"So she was still tried," Blueskin said. "Still tested, to make sure she could be what _Odin_ wanted—"

"She was tested to make sure she was right for Asgard!" Thor roared. "Odin did not factor into it. Odin was banned from the realm until Frigga had proven her worth, and only then was he allowed to approach her to ask if she would be his partner. And she said no! She said no the first time, and he had two wait two hundred years before she would entertain his proposal again!"

Blueskin reeled back, shocked. 

"Loptr would have received the same chance to say no," Thor said, breathing hard. For that had to be true. He refused to believe otherwise, that a prince such as Loptr would not have been accorded even the simple dignities demanded by Freya Understairs. 

"He would not have been — I would not have forced him to be my _bedslave_ —"

Blueskin looked upset now himself, for some reason.

"Loptr didn't know that," he said, in a small voice. "No one ever told Loptr that. And it's still not right, is it? Because no one tested Odin."

That had been Frigga's initial objection as well, though at the time many had found it shocking that a common girl would dare voice such a thought. But the kings of Asgard were tested. Thor knew that better than most. 

Thor should have been the one to visit Loptr and tell him all this. Thor should have done his duty in that way. That had been one of Thor's tests, and he'd failed it.

-

As civilization receded, blue goats multiplied, and winged dinosaurs as well, and bears the size of houses. The trim firs of the lower mountain became huge, towering, many-branched trees that curved against the steep mountainside like black-limbed ghosts. They rode past fewer and fewer fellow travelers, and saw only one caravan in the two weeks since they'd left the temple. When they finally came to a town, it was less a town that a single strip along the road. There was a tavern that doubled as an inn, a stable, and a rather lackluster little store that did not sell anything but dino meat and goats' milk.

Despite its remoteness and smallness, this was the first community they'd encountered that did not seem inclined to spit on Blueskin for his condition. There were whores aplenty in the tavern, carousing with migratory goatherds. One or two were plainly themselves in a family way. The barkeep passed Blueskin an Old Illi's without blinking at his belly, and only said, privately, to Thor, "Mind you're careful plowing that. With how far along he is, I've a mind to beat you, personally, but I've learned to let the whores tell me when they need my help."

Thor's hand tightened on the handle of his hammer. He had to fight not to bash the presumptive giant's head in.

"I've not done anything that will harm the babe, nor do I intend to," he said, barely keeping from snarling. 

The barkeep nodded.

"See that it stays that way, then."

Blueskin was now at a table not far away, sneaking little looks at a pair of tafl players. By now Thor has learned that the giants called tafl was not truly tafl at all, but a separate game entirely, played on a board that mimicked the great continent of Jotunheim, with a single mountainous continent in the east and the frozen archipelago to the West. Blueskin seemed to want to keep correcting one player, who was focusing her energy on the continent to the detriment of winning the archipelago. But when he caught Thor looking at him, his eyes flicked down to his Old Illi’s. He took a tentative sip while Thor picked up his ale and went to join him.

"This town seems kind, at least," Thor said.

"This isn't a town. It's a whorehouse with amenities."

"Brazen, for Jotunheim," Thor commented.

Blueskin smiled, a private little thing.

"This is why I wanted to get away. I mean, return. There are wild, wicked places up here. Places Laufey and his laws can't touch. My baby will be illegitimate, but up here it won't feel that way."

"So you really do plan to stay here?" Thor said. He didn't know why the thought disturbed him so much. "Raise the child in these wilds? What if your child should want to see more than the coldest mountain in existence?"

Blueskin's private smile grew teasing and sarcastic.

"That's what you're for," he said. "To drop in with your horse and your hammer and tell the babe all about the world you get to see, oh-son-of-Odin. Vanaheim and Muspelheim, Svartaflheim and Midgard, every land a bauble on the crown Odin has gilded his heir with."

"It is a promise, then," said Thor. 

He didn't like the thought of Blueskin up here by himself with only an old woman, the midwife that had delivered him, apparently. 

And now it hit Thor. She wouldn't be around to deliver the babe. Blueskin's plan had been to come up the Snowpeak with a midwife, but Thor had put a sharp stop to that. So how would he even deliver, in a backwoods place like this?

That night while Blueskin slept, he called to Heimdall.

"I'm sure you've seen the state of my traveling companion by now," Thor admitted, when the watchman appeared. "So..."

Oh Norns. How to explain? Thor wasn't sure what Blueskin was to him. He didn't even know Blueskin's name. He only knew that he didn't want the little giant hurt giving birth.

"No need to go further," Heimdall said, for he was Heimdall. "You finally want me to tell the Allmother you've taken a pregnant lover."

"Yes," Thor said gratefully. "The Allmother. Yes."

Not the Allfather.

"You are aware that if she comes to assist when she's needed, or even if she sends Eir or another healer in her place, the flash of the Bifrost will alert Laufey to your location?" Heimdall said pleasantly. 

Oh. Right.

"If Loptr is where you think he is, that will not help Loptr," Heimdall said. "But it will help Blueskin."

Thor closed his eyes, feeling torn.

"Tell her anyway," he decided. "Tell her I may call for assistance regardless. I don't know."

He couldn't expose Loptr to the other Jotnar royals if Loptr was in fact hiding up here. But would he do it to help Blueskin?

"I will," he decided. "I will call for her."

"Hm," Heimdall said. "You know, this is going to sound apropos of nothing, my prince, but if I were you I would check your Blueskin's rucksack."

Thor looked to Blueskin. He was sleeping on his rucksack, using it as a pillow. He always used it like that. The ragged thing seemed to contain all the possessions he had in the world, and therefore he was always with it, always clutching it close, never letting it out of sight.

It seemed rude to try and snatch it from him. Actually, it seemed rude to even ask about it. Thor was a prince of the nine realms and had saddlebags bulging with every possible supply their journey could need, while Blueskin had little but a ragged slip of cloak, a small pile of coin Thor had seen him carefully counting out every now and then, and of course the few gifts Thor had given him. Thor did not think he was hiding anything that could make delivering the child easier in the rucksack. Though possibly it wouldn't hurt to ask what his plans were, in the event of his actual delivery.

"The rucksack," Heimdall said again. He looked pained, as though he were pointing out something very obvious that Thor was ignoring entirely.

"I don't think—" Thor began, but by then Heimdall had blinked out of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We actually have learned what he's keeping in that rucksack, but I assume most people paid it about as much attention as Thor will (i.e., not a lot at first). XD


	14. Chapter 14

Never had Loki been so happy as on the day when they finally reached the Ironwood. 

Here the air was truly brisk, with not a hint of heat. The cold invigorated Loki, though it left Thor grumbling. Every handsome inch of him was slathered in furs. 

By now their road had become little more than a winding trail, cut into the mountaintop below a wall of tangled trees that rose high above their heads. Loki looked to Angrboda's map and saw that she'd drawn an arrow straight into the forest, so this was where he directed Thor despite his companion's complaints. 

"What about the road?" Thor demanded. "It could lead to a town. Loptr might be there."

"It does lead to a town," Loki said, consulting the map. "Frostberg. The highest settlement on Jotunheim. But they won't welcome me, I'm sure. And anyway, Loptr was never interested in the town."

For Frostberg looked to be a proper little village, not a roadside brothel. Angrboda had marked on the map the house of a healer, in case Loki needed that, and the local shrine to Ymir, "for our Loki to avoid." Loki thought this cautionary instruction was excessive. He knew to avoid any place the religious might gather, and having his name written on the map meant he'd had to struggle, more than once, to keep the map from Thor's sight.

Also, Angrboda had told him the townsfolk rarely ventured into the Ironwood if they could help it. It was a truly wild forest, its tree trunks thick as four or five giants apiece, tall enough and hung with enough silver leaves to block out the pale violet sky. Grey vines and blue snowflowers wound about every trunk, and in the peculiar metallic light between the trees sprang brown-yellow mushrooms big as Loki's face. Above them, in the higher branches, they heard the shrieks of winged dinosaurs returning to their nests. Stupid, plentiful white quails bobbed in and out of their path, and more than once a large black snake shot down to kill the silly birds, snapping their heads off and making Thor shudder.

"This is a terrible place," Thor decided. "This is where you're from? Here?"

"I so missed the dying screams of the birds," Loki told him, just to see him recoil. "The little fountains of blood as their heads are bitten off. Ah, memories of my youth."

Angrboda had warned him of the forest's dangers, of course. But she'd told him, too, to look for the blue trees that grew from the darkest, most blood-soaked corners of earth here, trees laden with frost-plums no matter the season. And the pale hickory pumpkin vines that twined around bushes and trunks, plentiful with nut-gourds that were fat and yellow as wax. She'd told him how to judge the clusters of berries springing up in clusters: black for magic, purple for eating, blue to poison, red to heal. Thanks to her, Loki knew that the dun yellow maples with their odd-shaped leaves were full of sweet syrup easy to tap, and that the trampled, languid ferns beneath the horse's hooves could be washed and boiled for a passable soup. He knew that the smell in the air, so horribly fragrant, was all those wild onions that one could live on for months at a time. 

Loki wasn't from the Ironwood. But he could live here. Anyone could live here, if they were daring and unafraid of work. 

_Alright, so I've always hated work,_ he thought at the babe. _But now I have no choice. And there's such magic here._

Or there would be. Laufey had summoned all the witches of the wilds to the temples, tortured them until they agreed to consecrate their powers to Ymir. But here was a place so far from his hold that a witch could thrive, could grow powerful. Here Loki and the child could be free.

He was in a good mood that night when Thor turned to him, as Thor often did these days. 

This was more than simply Thor taking his pleasure from the only Jotunn readily available. It was. Loki knew it was. Thor hardly did _take_ pleasure, after all. More often he gave it. It was a rare night on which he might rut his generous cock against Loki's, or stroke himself off and come on Loki's breasts. Thor plainly enjoyed these things, as uninhibited now as he'd been the day Loki had met him, but he remained just as generous, too. Loki grew to love being fondled despite knowing it was low of him, to love how Thor would lavish attention on his most sensitive places.

He did not think Thor understood what it meant that Loki had been promised to him, that Loki had been meant to be less an equal partner than a suffering complement. Dark where Thor was light, reserved where Thor was brash, obediently pure and submissive where Thor was gloriously, licentiously free. Thor might speak of all the honors accorded to Frigga, but the fact remained that no such honors had ever been promised to Loki.

_You must do your duty and expand your mind, magic, and cunning, to better suit Thor's own strengths._

That was what Loki had been told.

He had no interest in suiting Thor's strengths. But oh, how Thor's strengths suited _him_. Thor's mouth on his mouth, Thor driving fingers into him until Loki sobbed. Thor letting out his milk, playfully smacking his rear, brazenly lying and telling Loki he was beautiful. Thor liked to have a good time and Loki liked a good time with Thor. And how freeing it was, for all that it was a parade of sins. 

"You enthralled me when I first saw you," Thor muttered, that first night in the Ironwood, after making Loki come twice. "Now look where you've led me. The arse-end of Jotunheim."

"I enthralled you?" said Loki.

"Mmmm. Your mouth on my cock. Hearing you call my name, feeling you clench around me and knowing I was keeping you from that damnable silence you seemed so set on."

Loki had enthralled him then. Terrified, stupid Loki. Perhaps it was the terror that had really turned Thor on, but Loki preferred to think not. He preferred to think he could enthrall Thor again now. Dirty as he was, he liked thinking of this great handsome god wanting to fuck him. Loki shrugged off Thor's arms and knelt before him.

"Let's do it again," he decided, a little recklessly.

Thor hadn't entered him, properly fucked him, since that first night. Two months ago, now. Two months of Loki wet and wanting Thor's cock in him. He shifted on his knees, thinking of it, and snuck a hand around to prod a finger into his cunny. He had to balance himself on the ground with his other hand, for he was so heavy now. When he looked up at Thor through his lashes he could see that Thor didn't mind the awkward position, the image Loki must present like this, with his ass partly up and his tits up, too. 

Thor only leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair.

"We can't," he said, not without fondness. "What are you, eight months? That's too close, my Blueskin."

Loki let out a hiss of disappointment. How wretched it was to bare himself, to ask something so perverse, only to be turned down. Even if he knew Thor was right. 

"Let me suck you then."

Thor made a low, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. He stood and stripped off his layers of leggings, rolling them down along his powerful thighs. Loki sat back a bit while he did this, trying to get comfortable.

"Take my hair," he told Thor. "Help me balance."

Normally he hated being shoved about, having his hair pulled. It reminded him of Svad, and of the worst sorts at the brothel. But Thor's touch was firm yet not cruel, pulling Loki forward without letting him fall. With his free hand he pulled down the band of his underlinens, revealing that well-proportioned cock Loki had been fantasizing about. 

Loki leaned into it, capturing the soft tip with his tongue. Thor let out a heavy breath. 

It wasn't a bad cock to suck on, this one, so long as Loki wasn't forced into it. It was clean, and heavy in a pleasant way. When he got his whole mouth about the tip, he spent some time moistening that. It hardened in his mouth, a heavy fullness that grounded him. Thor's breaths became growls. Thor's hands tightened in his hair. Loki worked him in a little deeper and then bobbed on his prick, tasting pre-come at the back of his tongue. When he took Thor a bit too deep he had to pull off to breathe. This was a messy moment, pre-come and spittle drooling out, connecting the tip to Loki's now-swollen lips.

"Blueskin," Thor said, in a strangled voice. His hand held Loki in place, but he didn't cant his hips forward to shove his cock back in. Loki dared to look up at him. His strange golden-pale skin was blushed with red, his eyes blown with want. 

For Loki.

Loki cupped one of his breasts and tugged at the nipple, not for any reason other than to make Thor curse. Sometimes when Thor milked him it was such a freeing thing, relief blanking out Loki's mind, connecting to his cunt, erasing his worries and making him feel as though he didn't have to be anything for once, he only had to _be_. He wondered if this made Thor feel the same.

"Do you like my mouth?" he prompted, wanting to hear Thor affirm it. "I must look dirty."

"You look beautiful," Thor forced out. "I'll think of you like this and it will carry me through every corner of this misbegotten, onion-stinking forest, to wherever you want to take me."

Oh. Oh that was _lovely_. Loki dove for his cock again. This time both of Thor's hands tangled in his hair and guided him. He took Thor deep and sucked properly now, focused on the heavy weight on his tongue. The thickness slid in, out. Loki hollowed his cheeks around it, setting the pace as much as Thor did. He brought a hand up to cup and play with Thor's testicles — it was downright strange how Thor had these outside his body, but not _bad_ strange, simply 'oh-well-I-suppose-I'm-into-filthier-things-than-I-thought-I-was' strange. Next time Loki would start with these, take them into his mouth and lave them a bit, then lick along the shaft until Thor was begging him to do more. Would Thor beg? Perhaps he would only order. Either way, Loki would force a reaction.

 _I will make_ you _enjoy yourself,_ Loki thought threateningly. _I really will have you, then. Not as a little toy. As an equal, with the power to do to you what you do to me._

He let Thor come on his tongue, which Thor did with a great deal of creative Aesir cursing and many muttered phrases of the general beauty, skill, and appeal of Blueskin. Blueskin who was Loki. Loki grinned as he leaned forward on his hands and spat the come into the dirt.

Thor rubbed his back as he did so.

"I guess I did enthrall you," Loki said, voice raspy.

"You didn't technically need to prove it, but I'm not complaining," said Thor.

"I'd like to see you dare complain," Loki said, just to be obstinate. "I'd stab you."

"That you would," said Thor, amiable about it.

-

They were down to only three orbs after that night, which made Thor mumble irritated things about how they had better reach their destination soon. Loki also hoped they would. He was tired of riding. He knew it couldn't be good for the child, and that it wasn't fair to the little thing to have embarked on a journey this rough. 

Maybe if Loki had succeeded in his first plans, in squashing the little root inside him, it would have stayed just that. A bit of root. But now it was a real and full presence. It shifted about when the horse cantered too fast, it kicked and complained. Though Loki's bladder was far more mangled than it had been eight months ago, Loki himself felt mingled fear and delight at the thought of how much his child announced its continued survival.

Fear because he had no notion of how the birth would happen. If the birth would happen. Surely it would go well for the child, for the child had all his magic. But where did that leave Loki?

He no longer wanted the babe dead, but, more alarmingly, he no longer wanted himself dead. Not even a little. Instead of thinking with detached calm at how he'd nearly drowned himself, now the drowning morphed into a nightmare. More and more he remembered how it had felt as though something other than himself was at work, as though someone was shoving him under. But when Svadilfari had rescued him there had been no one about but him and Svad. 

He'd been meant to live. He wanted to live, to meet this baby properly. To touch its nose and eyelashes and fingers, to hear it make the implacable noises of complaint that he already knew would characterize a child of Loki.

Thor seemed to be of the same mind. They spent two more days traveling into the Ironwood, and on the morning of the second, as they picked their way through the low-hanging undergrowth, leading the horse, he was eager to address Loki's belly.

"Your mama has great plans to birth you among the onions and quails, and that's none of my business —"

"Correct," Loki said, huffing a bit as he walked.

"—but you will note that this is no place for a creature as pretty as your mama. Look around you!"

"It can't see a thing. It's still in my womb," Loki said. He sidestepped an overlarge snail. Thor ignored him.

"There's no sun! The branches block it out!"

"Overrated," said Loki.

"And the cold is enough to freeze even a frost giant's tit."

"You keep them warm enough for me," said Loki. "Can't keep your mouth off them."

Not that he'd want to. He enjoyed Thor's mouth on him. He tightened his fingers on the strap of his rucksack now, holding it close like he always did, and willed away the little snarl of heat between his legs.

Thor was still speaking.

"And there isn't a soul about—"

"As if I want every lumbering fool on the mountain crashing in to ruin our lives here—"

"—and your only lullaby shall be the wild shrieks of the dinosaurs, creatures that deserve no less than a massive extinction event—"

"If you call another storm I shall _stab_ you—"

"—so you must make sure to look after your mama, alright, little one? To protect him."

"It's my job to look after it," Loki snapped, and stooped down low less to avoid a low-hanging branch than to keep from showing how touched he was. 

Truthfully, he had no idea how to look after the child. He knew he could barely look after himself. If he'd been raised the world traveller, the favored heir, then perhaps he'd be better at it. Or at least he'd know how to fight and hunt and unfurl glorious might with the wave of a hammer. But Loki had never been meant to do that. Loki was just trying to figure out what he wanted for himself, aside from an ill-planned journey into the heart of the Ironwood.

"You still haven't told me what you're calling the child," Thor said now, reproachfully.

Loki shrugged. He hadn't dared think of a name, what with the growing fear that he might not live to see the child born. And in any case, what was fair about forcing the baby into a name of Loki's choosing? Loki had been called Loptr all his life, _pure as the air_ , because that was Laufey's whim and his mother's. And then even that had been ripped away.

"Thousand-legs, destroyer of worlds," he decided, watching a massive insect climb a nearby trunk, no doubt on its way to steal some dinosaur eggs.

"That will lead to teasing," Thor noted. "And are you certain you don't care whether it's a boy or girl?"

Either would be fine, so long as it thought for itself.

"I hope neither. I hope it's like me," Loki said.

"Ah yes," said Thor. "The best of the three genders: boy, girl, and magic."

Loki reached out a hand to hit him, overbalanced, and nearly fell. Thor caught him.

"It will be lovely indeed if it's like you," Thor said, and when Loki blushed and tried to squirm for something, anything that would keep Thor from being so embarrassingly kind, he tapped Loki's empty tunic pocket and added, "Don't think about reaching for your knife. I put it in the saddlebags."

"Pickpocket!" Loki cried.

Thor shrugged. 

"As if you're not a little thief yourself."

He wasn't, actually. He'd never tried to steal anything that didn't belong to him, though if Thor tested him enough then Loki would happily make plans to raid the last of his Aesir magic stores. There should be at least one of those marvelous orbs left, at least, for if the map was anything to go by, they would reach the ice falls by sundown.

They did. The first sign was a circuit of frozen streams they had to cross very carefully. Angrboda had said to follow those streams, so they did, and though the snow of Jotunheim couldn't penetrate the dense branches of the Ironwood, the moss beneath their feet was so frozen that it crackled. Soon enough the streams widened, leading them to a clearing. This was snow-covered and Loki threw up a hand again to keep Thor from going further. The streams fed into a great lake beneath the snow and ice, one Thor might well thoughtlessly blunder into, for the edges of the lake were not so clearly demarcated as one might like. Here the purple light of the sky broke through and played indigo on the great cliff-face before them, on the crystal-brightness of the frozen waterfall.

And tucked into an edge of the waterfall, accessible by a little black bridge: the cottage. Its plain gnarled walls made Loki exhale with joy and relief. There it was. Their home, his and the babe's.

"Why have you led me to a cliff of ice?" Thor said, in a voice that demonstrated he was determined to be extremely patient even though Loki might not deserve it.

Loki sighed. He pulled out the map now and ripped off the corner Angrboda had labeled 'to give to that dimwitted Thor.' Thor took it with some confusion, but now when Loki gestured at the cottage his eyes widened.

"My nana is a witch, and none may see her home if she does not wish them to," Loki said, tucking the map away again. "So you see, it's very safe."

"Safe?" Thor choked out. "My Blueskin, it doesn't have a _roof_."


	15. Chapter 15

It was unclear to Thor whether the cottage had belonged to Blueskin's family and been ceded to the midwife, or belonged to the midwife and was now ceded to Blueskin. Rather than interrogate his little giant, he decided that it didn't matter. 

Whoever owned it or had once owned it, right now the cottage was a stagnant, rotting mess. 

It was built into the cliff-face, partly shielded by the wall of ice falling over one corner of it, and obviously constructed long ago out of magic and hope. Insects and snow-rats scuttled out of the windows and mushrooms blossomed across the floorboards. Inside, there was a single large room with a fire pit in the center, a little pool of freezing water that burbled out from one corner wall, and the sad remains of an old bed. The back of the room opened onto a cave in the cliff, narrowing to a passage which, when Thor and Blueskin reached the end of it, made Blueskin clap his hands with delight. 

The passage led to a small, oddly warm cavern lit from a hole in the cliff above. This exposed the cavern to light that was then magnified by many layers of intervening ice, or perhaps magical glass. Here, overgrown vines and plants trailed along the ground and climbed the walls.

"It's so hot!" Blueskin cried, striding into the cavern happily. "But look, the herbs for sleep still grow! And likely the potatoes, beneath the ground! And the wild poison nettlebrush, as well."

Thor yanked him back by his collar then, as Thor wasn't sure what was herbs and what was potatoes and what was wild poison nettlebrush. 

"Let us go set up our last orb around this place," Thor said. "Anything might creep in."

"It won't," Blueskin insisted. "'Boda, my midwife. Her magic still shields us here. Can't you feel it?"

Thor couldn't, and in any case he didn't trust the magic of anyone who thought it was a good idea to decamp with the little pregnant giant to _this_ place. Thor had seen hog sties better appointed than this place.

Though this place had a hog sty. Or once had had one. When he went out through the rotted front door to set up the orb, he found its remains, and the remains of what had perhaps once been a front garden. He also found a little outhouse tucked into the nearby rock, and some very live wild warthogs which snuffled and ran away from him, across the black iron bridge that led to the cottage. One then ran to the left, dropped through a hole in the snow and ice that obscured all the ground out here, and was apparently taken by the rushing water Blueskin ensured him surrounded this place.

 _Everything,_ Thor decided, _is terrible._

Not simply the rotting roof, the poison plants, or the fact that the outhouse door would need unsticking. Not simply that Blueskin, mad creature, planned to live here. But the fact that Loptr had evidently not planned to live here. Loptr had likely never been here. No one had been here in years. That was very clear.

"When did you say your family moved out of this place?" Thor demanded, when he'd unstuck the door and strode back into the cottage to find Blueskin rubbing at one grimy window with his sleeve, only making it grimier. 

"Hmmm? Oh, shortly after I was born."

"I thought you said you grew up here."

"Oh! Well. Er. We moved down the mountain, but we still summered here when I was small."

"You summered _here_?"

"It's lovely and private. No one else comes here. It's too remote."

"No one visits the fire pits of Muspelheim to regard the bones of Surtr the Destroyed, but you don't see people summering there for privacy's sake."

"Of course not," Blueskin said. "The climate there must be awful. But here, you'll notice, it's just perfect."

That was because Thor had set up a magical, climate-controlled orb, but Thor was gracious enough not to point this out. Instead he stomped out again to try and lead their frightened horse across the bridge before it ran away.

 _If I were a good betrothed and a halfway-decent brother,_ he thought grimly, as he did this, _I would double-back to the town at the edge of this forest. Loptr may well be there. He may have lost heart when he came to this horrible wood, or when he saw this ugly wreck of a cottage. Perhaps he decided to try his luck with the town instead._

Or he could have perished in the wood. Had his head snapped off by a snake, or his blood drained by a giant insect. Thor had raised this possibility with Blueskin earlier, but Blueskin had been dismissive. 

"The Ironwood's creatures are famously respectful of magic," he'd said. "They will pounce on a normal giant, but not a mage like Loptr. Magic ruins most animals' digestion, you know."

"Did anyone tell the animals that?" Thor had demanded. "The insects?"

Thor should head for the town. Or scour the forest. Or make plans to head back to Utgard, where there were a million other leads to chase down.

He did nothing of the sort.

That night, he cleaned out the moss that was growing in the little corner pool and scraped the pipes clean so Blueskin could have a bath. In the morning, after trapping and killing a hog for breakfast, he dragged some large branches in from the forest and set about repairing the shattered roof. For thatch, he located something drying away in the little garden that Blueskin said was probably not poison, was probably fine for Thor to handle.

"Probably or is?" Thor demanded.

"Probably is," Blueskin said. "Don't worry, poison nettlebrush doesn't hurt frost giants. It will make your Aesir hands balloon, though. So I expect we'll soon find out if you're holding it."

His hands didn't balloon, which was good, because by now he had accepted that sometimes it was fine to grab Blueskin by his ragged collar and lightly smack his bottom until he yipped. Thor left him squirming, plainly going wet, until he was done fixing the roof and had installed a new door, to boot. Then he helped him let his milk out (which, for Thor, was a delicious and well-earned lunch), then it was time to go kill a dinosaur for dinner, not to mention to find something the horse could eat. Then, as the light of day died, Thor rebuilt what he could of the pen and put the horse there, with apologies for bringing it to this Norns-forsaken place. 

Blueskin spent most of the day picking mushrooms out of the floorboards and clearing his nettle-garden. He looked sideways at Thor as Thor came in for the night.

"I should bathe," Thor told him. "I'm rank, and I would not have you deal with that."

Blueskin nodded and curled up in his bedroll to wait. Thor didn't mention Loptr. Thor didn't mention how it was his duty to search for the prince, and how ill-advised that duty seemed now that he was faced with the reality of leaving Blueskin to have his baby alone in the forest.

"Thor?" Blueskin said, as Thor soaked in the pool. 

"Mmmm?" said Thor. He wondered if he was perhaps the worst brother-slash-fiance in existence. He wondered why he couldn't make himself care about that when Blueskin was with him. 

It would not be so odd, to be with Blueskin. Would it? Yes, Blueskin was a disgraced whore, but that would matter less on Asgard than on Jotunheim. And Odin had wed Frigga, in the end, and she had been far below his station. So perhaps Thor could make an argument for this, whether Loptr lived or not. 

From his letters, Loptr had hardly seemed to want to marry Thor. From what Thor could glean from Blueskin, Loptr had no reason to like Thor or want him. If Loptr lived, perhaps he would even say so, would give voice to his wishes. 

"Thor?" Blueskin said again.

"Mmm?" said Thor.

"I think I'd like a real bed," Blueskin said. "To have the baby in, I mean."

-

So the next day Thor chopped down a great grey tree, cut the timbers, and rebuilt the bed. It was not a pretty bed, but it would do. For a mattress, he and Blueskin cut apart some of Thor's cloaks and Blueskin stitched them, though he was clumsy with a needle. They stuffed the result with dino feathers. The process took three days, in which Thor also converted the pen into a proper stable, cleared the front garden, began work on a cradle to match the bed, and put a crude carved latch on the inside of the outhouse. 

As he worked he thought of how to relay his intentions to Blueskin. If he could relay his intentions to Blueskin. Perhaps it would be better to tell Asgard first, or at least to ask the Allmother what she thought. Frigga had wed into the line of Bor. Frigga knew what tests the little giant might be faced with. Though Blueskin would of course pass any tests. He was clever and magical. But would he want to pass? Would his little giant be, as Frigga had been, incensed by the whole process? He was a frightfully proud thing.

 _Perhaps Frigga and I can tell him the tale of Freya Understairs,_ Thor resolved. _How a lowly commoner won the heart of the Allfather and a place as the highest mage of Asgard, simply by demonstrating a little bit of well-timed humility here and there._

But even if they did that, they would still need to know what had become of Loptr, would have to remove Loptr from his current place as Thor's designated betrothed, a thing that might go better if they had Loptr's assistance.

It wasn't that Thor had ever wanted Loptr to be dead. But now, thinking of how the Jotunn prince might very well reject their planned union, he suddenly wanted very badly for Loptr to be alive. 

Blueskin, for his part, was privy to none of these thoughts. He was as busy as Thor. As Thor worked, Blueskin cleaned the windows, restored the fire pit, hung their things on little pegs he managed to affix to the new front door, and succeeded in making a few decent stews out of onions and gourds he found in the forest. By then the better part of a week had passed. And Thor kept telling himself he _must_ go look for Loptr, if only to ask for his help undoing the betrothal. Only he had to stay here a little longer. Just until Blueskin had the baby. And there were other things he could do for Loptr. He could call on the giantesses back in Utgard, to see what they had found so far. Likely nothing, for if they had they would have called on him. But still.

Frigga had sent him two small ceramic birds and before leaving Utgard Thor had given one to Jarnsaxa. When Thor tapped the remaining bird three times on the beak with his hammer, very lightly, and said the words Frigga had taught him, it cooed and came to life. Then it flew straight up, up, to trill a song that would be heard and echoed by its brother back in Utgard. It would take the news its brother gave it and return to Thor.

It returned with nothing. Mournful coos, that was all. Either Jarnsaxa had nothing to say or she could not say what she needed to. Somehow her matching bird had been harmed, or worse. Thor's bird hid its face in its wing, worrying Thor and making Blueskin cry out when he woke the next morning.

"Where did you come from?" he said. 

He took the bird to the nettle garden and built it a little nest, while Thor spent the day slowly building himself into a knot of anxiety. Now he really knew he should turn his attention to Loptr investigation, but still he could not bring himself to leave Blueskin. Who would hunt for the little giant? Mend the broken windowpanes for him? Help him into the bath now that he was too heavy to scramble over the ledge himself? 

_Loptr is not here, so I could easily call for Frigga now and have her send midwives and servants and workmen,_ Thor realized, that very next night.

But then he didn't do that. He should have, but he feared explaining what Blueskin was to him until he could prove what Loptr most certainly _wasn't_. So he compromised and called on Heimdall.

"Has Jarnsaxa called to you?" Thor asked the watchman, when Heimdall's serene form shimmered into view.

"Not once, my prince."

That was bad. That was very bad.

"When did you see her last?" Thor demanded.

"She and the other giantess went into the Utgard temple complex several weeks ago, not long after you began your journey. I believe they thought they had located Svadilfari there, but after they went in, I did not see them come back out. And my gaze does not extend to the temple complex, as you know, so I cannot tell you why not."

Thor stared at him.

"Weeks ago?" he said. "They vanished into Laufey's stronghold weeks ago and you didn't think to tell me that?"

Heimdall did not react to the censure in Thor's tone, other than to sigh.

"It would not be the first time a spy dropped out of my sight, my prince. Or even this particular spy. Asgard's agents often have to do a number of things it would be best for Asgard not to know about."

"What?" Thor said.

He didn't understand that. Heimdall was the All-Seeing. The very point of Heimdall was that he saw all.

Heimdall only sighed again, and now Thor began to feel that old sense that something had shifted and again he had chosen wrong, or missed something obvious.

"Your father's throne was not built on kindness," said Heimdall. "Nor your grandfather's."

Thor tried to understand. He wasn't a child, he wasn't even a stripling youth like Blueskin. He could put two and two together.

"Do you think they have — what? Resorted to torturing Loptr's lover to get information?"

And wait. Why should Svadilfari be in the temple complex, anyway?

"It is good that you chose to go into the mountains," Heimdall said now. "There are some things you have never been suited for. This is the very reason you were betrothed to a being like Prince Loptr in the first place."

Thor stared at him.

"What does that mean?" he demanded, voice growing louder.

Heimdall's expression conveyed a boundless, infinite patience, which Thor thought was very inappropriate of him given how cagey he was being. 

"Have you checked the rucksack yet?"

"No! What does that have to do with anything?" Thor said, quite loud now.

The noise woke Blueskin. He shifted now in the bed, pulling himself up on his elbows.

"Thor?" he said. "What's happening? Come to bed. It's pitch black out."

And when Thor turned back to look at Heimdall, Heimdall was gone.

-

To his credit, he did try to get the rucksack. Only over the course of the next day he realized that Blueskin really was was never without the rucksack. The young giant carried it into the forest when he went to pick berries and plums. He put it on its peg, where he could see it, when he bathed. He dragged it deep into the cavern of his nettle garden when he decided to dig up potatoes.

This wasn't necessarily nefarious, as he needed some way to carry all of the potatoes. Still, Thor found that coupled with Heimdall's admonitions it made him suspicious. Heimdall wouldn't care about the rucksack if it wasn't important in some way. But what could that tattered, ugly bag have that was so critical?

Thor spent that day trying to build them a table and chairs, but eventually had enough of the mystery. He picked his way through the narrow stone passage to the nettle garden, where Blueskin was half-naked on his knees in the dirt, digging holes and stopping periodically to sigh at the ravaged state of his nails. 

"I have some thread left," Thor said. "After all our work on the mattress. I thought we could use it on your rucksack. Help fix that, er, that shoulder strap."

"I'd rather you sew up my tunic," Blueskin said. "Sew some cloth into it to make it bigger. It hardly fits."

Then he straightened and stared at Thor.

"Wait. You sew? Then why did _I_ have to sew the mattress?"

"I can only sew rucksacks," Thor said awkwardly. "That's all I ever learned. Rucksack sewing."

Blueskin had stripped off his tunic in the heat of the cavern and now tossed the offending garment at Thor's head.

"Well, learn to sew tunics!"

Thor threw it back at him.

"I'm a prince, little giant! You don't tell me what to learn how to sew! Especially when I've been kind enough to offer to sew your rucksack!"

"Well, you're not getting my rucksack!" Blueskin retorted, and threw a potato.

Thor could not even begin to understand why he was attracted to such a savage. He would have pinned Blueskin with his hammer and taken the rucksack as punishment, only he'd decided at some point that the hammer should be a threat never acted-upon. Or at least not acted-upon until Blueskin was out of the family way.

He retreated, fuming, and took the potato. He sat at the one chair he had finished, at the table he'd also finished, staring at all the unfinished chairs and trying to think of how to get the rucksack from Blueskin.

Soon enough the little giant dragged it out. It was full of potatoes. He fetched the knife Thor had given him, which he was always hiding in crevices in the rock passage or beneath the mattress like a cerulean lunatic, and said, "It seems a shame to use it to peel potatoes. You ought to give me another knife for that."

"I shouldn't have given you the first knife," Thor said. "Tell me about Loptr."

Was it his imagination, or did Blueskin look guilty?

"Why?" the little giant asked flatly. "I've answered endless questions about him already."

"You were his friend," Thor said. "What was he like? You told me he was a prankster and a scamp, but was he more than that? Was he noble? Honorable? Good-natured?"

Blueskin shifted from foot to foot, dropping the rucksack.

"No," he said.

"No to which one?"

"All of them!" 

"Then why were you friends with him?" Thor snapped. " _Were_ you friends with him? I would never speak that way about my friends."

"He had no friends!" Blueskin hissed now, wringing his hands. "Who would be friends with him, the brat? Always sneaking out and blaming the other novices when he was caught, obsessed with nothing more than his own freedom and pleasure, taking his royalty for granted! Always apart from everyone, because he was promised to _you_! No one liked him! His own mother barely did, and she died!"

The little giant stumbled back then, and Thor had a start because he was afraid Blueskin might fall. But Blueskin only righted himself and turned to go into the passage. He didn't make it two steps, however, before he said, "Why do you care? Don't you get it? He hated you. He didn't want you. He shamed himself with Svadilfari rather than be your bride. Don't you get how stupid he was?"

Was it envy, that ugly emotion in Blueskin's tone? Over the prince? Elusive Loptr, who seemed to have been swallowed up by the air itself?

Thor did not love Loptr. But there was something ugly here, some ugly secret of Blueskin's, and if it had hurt Loptr then Thor could not ignore it.

"He didn't know," Thor said, as he tried to think on what Heimdall had told him, tried to understand Loptr for himself, without Blueskin's interference. "He was a child, no older than you, my brother was. And Asgard plainly had no attention to spare for him. He was raised apart in this horrible place, forced to learn all the same shame and cruelty you did. No doubt to make him a twisted, unhappy thing who would do whatever Asgard asked when we finally got around to asking."

"And a twisted and unhappy thing he became!" Blueskin cried out now, steadying himself against the rock wall. "Why do you want that? I told you he killed himself! Let him have killed himself, already!"

Thor could have lunged for the rucksack then. He could have. Blueskin's back was turned. Thor could discover whatever it was he was hiding, and perhaps it would be terrible indeed, and end this between them.

He didn't want that. Again, Thor compromised.

"No," he said coldly. "Whatever you have of my heart, Blueskin, Loptr is my duty. So I will go to Frostberg to search for him. I would have you come with me. I would not leave you alone."

Blueskin turned back and regarded him with something like despair.

"It's three days' ride!" he cried out, gesturing at his belly. "I am going to _burst_! And every town we go to hates me!"

Thor closed his eyes. He wished he could see another path forward. He couldn't. He did, however, have a second knife in his boot, which he now removed and used to cut a lock of his hair. This he braided quickly into a ring.

"Here," he said, holding it out to Blueskin. "I will be your husband. Or purchaser, whatever passes for a husband here. Then they will not hate you."

Whatever he expected, it wasn't to see Blueskin visibly recoil.

"I can't wear that," he said softly. "Please."

"It seems the best way to keep the good people of Frostberg from mistreating you," Thor said, not understanding why Blueskin looked so horrified. "And wait. You grew up summering here. Might they _know_ you?"

Perhaps that could help Thor get information. On Loptr, on Blueskin, on anything. And, more importantly, perhaps that could help them get Blueskin a proper healer or midwife. Then Thor could feel as though he wasn't doing something brutal and cruel to the little giant, in suspecting him and not even knowing why. Thor did not want to suspect him. Thor wanted to be with him, to have him, without all these half-spoken secrets between them. 

Blueskin took the makeshift ring with a defeated air.

"I was very small, when last I was here. They will not know me at all as long you do not tell them my name."

 _How could I possibly do that?_ Thor thought, with no small amount of frustration. _I don't_ know _your name._


	16. Chapter 16

Loki, or rather Blueskin, received a markedly different reception from people while wearing Thor's makeshift ring.

"How bright he is with your child," cooed one Frostberg giantess, reaching for Loki's hair. "I've been meaning to get a runt for my second spouse. But you don't keep your little darling's hair trimmed. I would, if he were mine. How much did you pay?"

Thor, to his credit, stepped between Loki and the giantess. This was good. Otherwise Loki would have clawed her eyes out. 

"We're looking for his brother," Thor said, ignoring her question. "He looks like my beloved here. Or, er, he's about the same height, which I'm told is rare."

Loki had told him this, over the course of the journey to Frostberg, an unpleasant journey to say the least. Loki was tired of traveling. The child was tired of traveling. Loki's back, belly, legs, and feet had protested every step from Utgard to the cottage, and now they wanted to rest, and they couldn't, because now Thor dragged them to Frostberg.

Thor was not supposed to do this to him. Thor was not supposed to ring him and order him about, as though Loki was little more than something to wed and breed. They'd never talked about it explicitly, but still. He'd thought Thor might be better than this. Stupidly, he'd let himself be convinced of that, these past two months.

Now he knew the truth. Since they were out of orbs, their ride back through the Ironwood to civilization was colder than ever, and Loki was fine with that. That meant Thor shivered and didn't try to reach for him as much, but instead tended to ball himself in as many furs as possible in order to sleep. Thor did pepper him with questions during the day, though: how close were Loptr and Blueskin, really? Why did Blueskin seem to hate him so, at times? What had Loptr thought of Blueskin? Of Thor? What did Loptr even look like now, come to think of it? Were there any holographs Blueskin had? How about in the rucksack, were there holographs in there? 

Loki had laughed his face at the notion that Laufey might ever want to pay for such expensive magic, just to preserve the image of his stepson's face.

"And no," he'd said flatly. "You can't look at my rucksack."

But since Thor plainly wanted to, one night Loki took out his mother's signet ring. He slipped it underneath his tongue, mouth bulging around the heavy weight. Then he put his head down and pretended to sleep. 

Thor crept up and tugged the rucksack from under Loki's head. Loki shifted slightly, but kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. He heard Thor's disappointed sigh as the prince found nothing of value beyond Loki's small collection of coins. Then Thor gently lifted up Loki's head and arranged the rucksack back underneath him.

 _Let that be a lesson to you,_ Loki thought, and after that he heard no more about the rucksack. After that Thor was more shamefaced, too, and desperate to make up for things. He'd told Loki as they finally rode into town that perhaps he would simply buy Loki a new tunic.

"Do as you like," Loki answered flatly.

Thor left him by the town's central well, with the horse and all the local gossips. They surrounded Loki with solicitous goodwill, inquiring about the baby. Loki decided he didn't have to answer them. Though by now he hated the horse, for the horse was always jostling him about painfully, he buried his face in its flanks and ignored the good people of Frostberg. Eventually they whispered that he must be tired, or a mute, or ruined in the head, poor thing, and went away. 

_If I weren't so exhausted I'd be bitter and I would use this time to think up revenge on Thor_ , Loki decided. But he was exhausted. He nearly fell asleep like this, perched on the side of the well leaning against the horse, only the horse betrayed him by shifting about too much.

A small child came up, only four feet tall and so likely very young indeed. She said, "What's his name?"

"The baby or the horse?" Loki asked.

"The horse."

"I have no idea."

"The baby."

"Haven't decided that either, to tell you the truth."

"Your spouse named you, but not the horse or the baby?" said the child.

Good Ymir, that was true, wasn't it? Thor _had_ named him. Clumsily, with the most unimaginative name possible, but still. Although how did this urchin know that Thor had named him?

As if on cue, Loki heard Thor's voice booming across the square.

"Yes. Six feet. My Blueskin's brother. Duller in color, though, and with very bold markings. Likely not nearly so lovely, if we're being honest."

The giant he was speaking to confirmed that he hadn't seen Loptr. And then, from what Loki could make out, expressed skepticism over the idea that a giant that small could ever make it all the way from Utgard to the tips of the Snowpeak.

 _Ha,_ Loki thought smugly. _What do you know?_

He was further pleased when Thor's answer to this sounded deeply frustrated, for all that Loki couldn't hear the actual words until Thor raised his voice a bit.

"Very sorry to bother you with this, then, my good Jotunn," Thor said, with that touch of condescension that always leached out when he spoke to those of lesser rank. "But here are your eighty silver, and I shall pick up the tunics in an hour."

Now Loki straightened up and craned his neck to stare at him. Over the next forty minutes, he watched Thor progress from storefront to storefront, never gaining information about Loptr, always giving coin over. For Blueskin-sized boots. A Blueskin-sized robe. Linens and pillows and blankets and a comb for Blueskin. 

The comb came from a dimpled giantess who said, loud enough for Loki to hear, "You needn't chase this wayward brother to please your beloved, you know. You have his heart already. Look at how he stares after you."

"I'm not staring at him because he has my heart!" Loki shrieked. "I'm staring at him because he's pissing away money!"

The giantess nearly fell over.

"He talks? People were saying he was a mute."

"I'm not a mute!"

"When he's mute things are much worse," he heard Thor say. 

"You'll wish I was mute when I'm through with you!" Loki snarled.

Thor stomped over to him. The aggravating look of patience he'd worn all through their journey to Frostberg was now giving way to stormy fury.

"Why am I buying you anything when you're this unpleasant?"

"Perhaps so you can find something the next time you decide to steal my rucksack," Loki retorted.

Thor grimaced. He leaned against the well next to Loki.

"Perhaps I was meant to find that there was nothing in the rucksack," he said carefully. "So that I might take better care of you, by filling it to the brim with the things you need."

Loki didn't actually need a fancy robe, or better boots than the ones Thor had already given him. But he didn't say that, because, truthfully, he wanted those things.

"The giant Hilgenar is a healer," Thor said, apropos of nothing. He pointed at the very house Angrboda had marked as the house of a healer on her map. "He has agreed to see you in twenty minutes. He's dealing with a case of gout right now."

"I never agreed to see a healer," Loki pointed out.

Thor only looked at him. Loki relented.

"A healer would be useful," he muttered.

To reward this common sense, Thor went to the local hog sty to buy them some fritters. Loki devoured ten in the time it took Thor to have one.

He didn't know why Thor had turned on him, and he was tired and angry at Thor. But the food softened him a bit. These days, food always softened him a bit. And the gifts, those didn't hurt either. And, really, Thor had a genius for giving him gifts of food, the best gifts of all.

"The first time I ever had hog fritters was the day you met us in the Goat's Tit," he told Thor eventually, once his hunger was sated. "I was furious when you took the last one."

Thor stared at him.

"The hogherd claimed they were a common meal in this province," he said. "I thought you might have eaten them when you were young."

Loki could have kicked himself.

"Ah," he said. "Well. Er. My family were avowed vegetarians."

"There's a hog sty outside the cottage."

"Of course. For my beloved pets. Pinky, Stinky, and Ingeborg."

Thor looked unimpressed with these names, which was rich given Thor's own naming ability, but otherwise dropped it. Loki was relieved. He didn't want Thor suspicious. He had no idea why Thor was suddenly suspicious. Was it simply frustration over not having found Loptr? 

_Too bad. You're not going to find him,_ Loki thought.

Thor didn't understand what it meant, that Loptr had been groomed for so long to be his. Thor thought things would be different on Asgard, for all that Loptr had once had mountains of letters from Odin's secretaries that suggested things would not, in fact, be very different. Loptr would always be second-class, from a backwards realm, forced to prove himself, forced to be Thor's prize and Asgard's useful tool. 

Loki was glad he knew what marrying Thor would really bring him. Even though sometimes he wished he didn't know it. Some days he was ready to just tell Thor who he was and be done with it.

_I'm Loptr, idiot. It's me. Me you're searching for._

But would Loptr have been permitted to have whatever Loki now had with Thor? Whatever Blueskin had with Thor? What they had seemed true, rooted in care instead of duty. And untinged by anger, mostly. Until now, until this fight over Frostberg and Loptr, a fight which left Loki listless and tired.

Thor would be angrier than this, and everything much worse than now, if he ever learned how thoroughly Loki was lying to him. So Loki said nothing. Instead he licked at the grease on his fingers and let them lapse back into silence.

"I'm sorry to drag you here on Loptr's account," Thor said, after a few more moments. "Sorry to do it to you, and sorry to do it to the babe. But I cannot leave you behind on your own in that remote cottage, and I had to do something to look for Loptr."

"Why?" Loki said. "Why not simply accept that he's dead?"

"Probably dead," Thor said, mulish. But then he frowned.

"He was my brother," Thor said. "I may not have known he was my betrothed as well—"

"What?" Loki said, thrown off by this. "You didn't?"

"If I'd known I would have visited," Thor said firmly. "But I should have visited him anyway, met him as a brother. I didn't. I failed him."

Loki was quiet. Thor hadn't known. Why did it feel as though that changed things? Perhaps because it meant he had less reason to hate Thor. Not that he _had_ hated Thor, but then that was the point. He'd thought Thor had neglected him deliberately, and perhaps Thor had, but not because Thor had assumed Loki was to marry him. Thor had never had any idea Loki was to marry him. 

_But I forgave him for never visiting me when I thought he did know,_ Loki thought, suddenly tired. _Why am I now so upset? Over him doing his duty, which I knew he would? Over a rucksack?_

How stupid he was.

He wanted to curl up and sleep and wake with the baby born and every ache done with. And Thor. Oh god. He wanted to wake with Thor. But not as Thor's betrothed, or Thor's tragic little brother. He wanted to wake and have Thor just to have Thor, without all this nonsense. Just have him. So he let Thor drag him to the healer without complaint. 

Hilgenar the Healer was a spry giant of twelve feet who took one look at Loki and immediately began to berate Thor for making Loki make the three-day journey into Frostberg.

"Leave him alone," Loki said. "I made him drag me up the mountain from Utgard first."

"Up the whole of the Snowpeak?" cried Hilgenar, looking aghast. He helped Loki onto a couch in his front room and gently lifted Loki's tunic to better get a look at the child. "In your condition, you should have stopped traveling before your second trimester was through! This child is far too big, and you far too small, for anything so strenuous to be safe for you."

Well, no one had told Loki as much quite so explicitly, so here Loki was. Two months later, having made it up the Snowpeak.

Hilgenar now shot a look at Thor like he was trying to understand just how an Aesir and a runt could make a baby so big.

"My mother was big," Loki said truthfully.

"Aye, well, her grandson will be very large for a runt," Hilgenar said.

"Grandson?" Thor cut in. "It's a boy? How can you tell?"

"The way he carries, see—"

"That's backwoods nonsense," Thor protested, with a furious shake of his hammer. "Not medicine. Where are the healing stones? The magical waters of restoration? The soul forges?"

Loki could have told him that Jotunheim didn't have any of that. Jotunheim wasn't nearly as advanced or wealthy as Asgard. But instead he laid back on the couch and dozed a bit, while Thor argued with the healer. He didn't even rouse himself when Hilgenar was prodding him, for nothing Hilgenar did was new. Nal had hired a healer to come to the brothel once a month, so Loki was used to having hands pressed to these spots on his belly, even if Thor sounded annoyed by the lack of greater care than this.

Loki did start up, however, when he heard Hilgenar say, "He must be kept on bedrest. And not moved back to the Ironwood, preferably, until the child has been born. You can ask among the families in the village to see if they'll let you stay—"

"Thor, no," Loki said immediately. "I want to go home. I want to go back to the cottage."

His witch's cottage in the Ironwood. His hidden refuge, with his own garden and the bed Thor had built him, and the lovely wilds of forest and falls all around them, keeping the world away from them. Him and the baby and Thor. 

"Who will help him deliver out there?" Hilgenar said, aghast. 

"I don't care," Loki said. "Thor, please. I want to go _home_."

Thor shifted uncomfortably under Hilgenar's gaze.

"I might get my stepmother to come out and help him. With the birth, I mean."

"In time for this child to be born?" Hilgenar demanded.

"Your stepmother?" Loki said. "You mean—"

Frigga. Frigga who could do such incredible magic, those light illusions Loki still dreamed about copying, and the orbs, and who knew what else. Loki closed his eyes again and tried to picture it. It didn't seem real.

Thor squeezed his shoulder.

"Please don't worry about us," he told the healer. "I'll make sure he has help, for the birth."

-

Thor did enforce the bedrest when they'd made it back to the cottage. Loki didn't fight him. After all the emotional upheaval of visiting Frostberg, the promise of perhaps meeting Frigga kept him awed and quiescent. He laid in bed and traced runes on his belly, the ones he thought might make the light-spell work.

 _When you are born I will put on whole plays out of light for you,_ he promised his child.

Thor, in the meantime, saw to the garden, the horse, the cottage, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He continued work on the cradle he was making for the babe, which became more polished and intricate every day. He carried Loki to the pool when Loki felt dirty, and helped him wash. It was colder in the cottage now that they'd used up the last orb, but sometimes he'd send little lightning sparks into the firepit to make it warmer on that side of the room. Then he'd strip bare and give himself sponge baths with water heated in the pit, for the pool was too cold for him now. Loki would watch him from the bed, how the flickers of light would play on his muscles.

He wanted Thor in him. He wanted it so, so badly. Wrapped up in his new robe in bed there was often little else to think about, just dreams of magic and dreams of Thor, and Loki didn't even care how slutty the dreams of Thor now made him. He'd been a slut for nearly nine months, and had the belly to prove it. That was that. It was easier to stop hating himself for it, to just accept that when Thor decided to get impressively half-naked, Loki would end up being the one furtively fingering himself in the corner.

"I can see you, my Blueskin," Thor muttered one night, as he rinsed himself off by the fire.

Loki was so wanton these days that he didn't stop. He just spread his legs further, inviting Thor to look. 

"I wish I could take you in me," he told Thor, to see the answering want on Thor's face. "You stretched me so nicely. It didn't hurt. It just felt good."

He could see Thor jolt, the god of lightning and thunder finally floored by something. The curve of his cock against his bare, glorious thigh, firming up. Loki wondered for a moment if Thor would break and fuck him if he told him something true. That Thor was the best he'd had. That Thor and only Thor had ever made it feel good.

"I wonder if you could come on my voice alone," Thor said. "If I just told you how beautiful you are."

"I wonder if _you_ could come on _my_ voice," Loki retorted.

Thor gave a grin.

"It's not a contest, brat. It's a partnership."

But he came forward like it was a contest, pulling on a fur to ward off the chill in Loki's corner of the room. Then he was kissing Loki and sliding a finger in next to Loki's two fingers. He played Loki's passage with a knuckle, rubbing into Loki the way he knew Loki liked. 

"I'd like to do something, my Blueskin, but you need to trust me for it," he said. "I think I'll probably be the first one to do it to you."

Loki knew he was a contrary creature by nature, but for once he was in a mood to agree. He nodded against Thor's forehead as Thor pressed kisses to his collarbone.

"Good," Thor said. "Trust me."

Then he was pulling Loki to the edge of the bed and pressing Loki's legs up. Loki felt the cool air play on his bare ass, his cunt, his waking cock. Thor kissed the back of one thigh, then bent down. Loki thought he might lap at his cunt, but Thor pressed his tongue somewhere else entirely.

Oh. Oh, this was filthy. It was so filthy. Loki didn't even panic so much as squirm. It felt good. Bizarrely good, having Thor trace the sensitive ring at his rear. The flat of Thor's tongue made him cry out. Loki hadn't even known the nerves back there could feel good.

And this was so slow, so torturously nice, compared to Thor sucking him elsewhere. Thor seemed to want to take even more time than usual, dipping his tongue in even though Loki was laughing with shamed delight.

"Thor," he said. "You can't—it must be _foul_."

Thor smacked his ass lightly, the sharp sting mingling with the pleasure.

"Don't tell me what I can and can't," he told Loki, warning in his tone. Then he bent his head again and played with that little ring some more. A finger joined his tongue, circling Loki's pucker.

"There's a spot," Thor murmured. "I can bet you haven't felt it, love. If you had you might not be so frightened. I hope you have it. It's good to have. I've had pleasure wrung out of me with that little spot."

"Down there?" Loki managed. "Inside?"

As good as Thor was making him feel, he still had a hard time believing this.

"I'd show you if we had lubricant," Thor said. "I'd show you if I knew I wouldn't hurt you."

Loki took in a breath. Thor had never hurt him, not intentionally. Thor didn't seem to enjoy humiliating him. When they'd been fighting on the way to the town, and Thor had tried to reach for his bedroll, Loki had said, _stop. Not tonight_ , and Thor had stopped. Put his hand down and left Loki alone, actually listened. 

"I trust you," Loki said. "You can—you can do what you want, Thor."

Thor growled.

"I want to be the one to have bred you. What a privilege it would be. An honor, my Blueskin. But since that wasn't me, I will settle for giving you pleasure."

And he dipped down again, touching the heat of his tongue to Loki's rim, and made good on his word.

-

In the morning Thor went hunting, leaving a note claiming that he would return soon and instructing Loki to stay in bed, on pain of being forced into bed at hammerpoint should Thor return and find Loki overexerting himself.

Loki didn't need the threat. He liked lazing about. He stayed in bed for quite a long time, curled up and comfortable, until his bladder began to kill him. Then he tried to reach for the chamberpot Thor had bought in town, to keep Loki from having to trek out to the outhouse. The pot was missing. Thor must have taken it to dump it out. Loki sighed and pulled his robe around him, then went out into the pale violet day. He made it to the outhouse with no trouble despite Hilgenar's dire premonitions that too many excess steps would bring the baby upon them. He did his business. He went back out into the front garden and stood there for a moment, enjoying the weak Jotunheim sun and the feel of frost-tipped moss between his toes.

Then he heard a whistle.

Someone was standing just beyond the bridge. Not Thor. Taller than Thor, though not so tall as a proper giant. Even from here, the markings were familiar. Like interlocking horseshoes.

"Little Loki," Svadilfari called out. "Little Loki, I know you're in there. That witch told me I'd find you here. Come out. I've come to convince this Thor that you're dead."

He laughed, ran a hand through his wild red-brown hair. When he turned his face, Loki could see the jagged scar Loki himself had made, out of rage and fear over how Svad had taken him. But they'd patched that up. Loki had stiffly apologized, for it wasn't like he hadn't asked for it, and gotten Svad a job in the temple complex. Svad had later accepted the apology, and brought Loki to the abortionist when Loki had begged him for help getting rid of the child. There was no reason not to trust Svad. They had parted on amicable terms.

Svadilfari whistled again. 

"Come on, little Loki," he said, tone light. "I saved your life. The least you could do is come out and go over what you want me to tell him. I'm helping _you_ , you know."

Loki crept toward the bridge. But no, he should go back and get his boots, rather than greet Svad barefoot. He turned back while Svad's calls echoed around the clearing. In the cottage, he stooped and pulled his boots on with some difficulty.

He'd stuck his knife in one. He considered now hiding it under one of the floorboards, but something made him pause. Instead he tucked it away in his robe, rearranging the fine wool so that not a hint of jeweled scabbard showed.

Then he went out to greet Svadilfari. He had no idea why Svadilfari had come all the way up here, rather than simply give a statement to the giantesses. 

When Loki was past the bridge, not a foot away from him, Svadilfari straightened up and his jaw dropped. 

"There you are!" he said, sounding awed. "Huge as a bronto, little Loki. How's your cunt going to push all that out?"

"Don't be crude," Loki told him, in a clipped voice.

"Give us a kiss," Svadilfari said.

"I'd rather not," said Loki. Funny, how the very thought of kissing Svadilfari made him suppress a cringe. "That's what got me like this, if you'll recall."

"You liked it," Svad said, rolling his eyes. "I met your nurse and that other giantess. They told me about this plan with Prince Thor."

"You didn't have to come up here to talk to him," Loki said stiffly. "You could have given them a statement."

He wished Svad had done that. He felt sick looking at Svad, for some reason. He didn't want Svad here. Svad in the Ironwood kept the Ironwood from feeling homey and safe, and Loki needed it to feel homey and safe.

"How did you get up here?" Loki said now.

"Caravans, obviously," Svad said, with a shrug.

"How'd you get the money for that?" 

Svad grinned, showing his sharp, crooked teeth.

"Now that you mention it, not through your dime."

Then he lunged. Loki wasn't fast enough to get away as one of Svadilfari's big hands closed on his throat, making him scream. Svad had done this before, too. When Loki hadn't wanted him, when Loki had asked him to _stop_.

He slapped Loki's belly, hard. Loki tried to kick, to punch, to reach for his knife, but he was too clumsy and too small. He was powerless. Like he'd been beneath the currents. With what felt like a hand on his head, holding him down.

"Did you figure it out yet?" Svad crooned. "I didn't save you. I just couldn't successfully kill you. I thought I had, but when I pulled you out you were still alive." 

-

Helblindi and Byleistr were waiting in a clearing not twenty minutes away, each with his own dinosaur mount. On a third mount, Loki spied the trussed-up form of Angrboda, blood trickling down one side of her great face. Panic seized his heart. Svadilfari forced him down to his knees.

"Where's nurse?" Loki said.

He hoped they hadn't killed her.

"You don't get to ask questions," said Byleistr languidly. "Do you know we asked about you in Frostberg? They told us you were married."

Helblindi barked out a laugh.

"You!" he jeered. "Married! Like anyone would want you, after you begged for a pounding from Svad here."

"You paid him to kill me," Loki said, trying to wrap his mind around it, around the helpless rage it created in him.

"That's true," Helblindi said. "Three times."

Three. Three. Loki couldn't understand that. How had they tried to kill him _three_ times? But now Helblindi was crouching in front of him and taking him by the neck. Svad was just behind him, grinning at the sight.

"Easy with those fine breasts there," he said. "I'd like to slap those around a bit, when you're done with him."

"They're your work, if you think about it," Helblindi said lightly.

"Aye. He was flat and I fucked him full, didn't I? Though I'll grant I meant to do him in long before the seed took."

Svad and his brothers kept their eyes trained on Loki as Loki figured it out. That night he'd assented to sleep with Svad. How Svad's hands had closed about his throat as he'd rutted into Loki, how it had felt like Svad was crushing his windpipe. That must have been the second time. And as for the third—

"That's right. You _are_ clever, aren't you?" Svadilfari said, grinning. "That day I took you to my little friend."

"The abortionist," Loki croaked out, starting to see spots as Helblindi dragged him over to the same dino they'd bound Angrboda to. But then Helblindi let go of his throat. As Loki gasped for air, Helblindi began winding ropes around his arms.

"Nah, he wasn't really," Svad was saying, in the meantime. "Just a sailor friend of mine. I told him to butcher you, but then you woke up from that, too."

Byleistr made a disgusted noise.

"Ymir's Laws, we've wasted a lot of good money on you. It would have been so easy if we could have just killed you. Or had the temple do it. But father thought even the spiked barrel punishment might not work. Nothing we did seemed to kill you. You can survive _anything_ —"

"Even pushing my kid out of his cunt?" Svad put in now, still merry. "I don't know. Big as he is, that might just be too much even for him."

"Well, fifty gold if your wretched spawn kills him," grunted Helblindi, still tying Loki up. "Either way, if we want to be free of Odin's line, targeting Loptr isn't the way."

Then he stopped, straightened.

"Sorry," he said, to his horrified half-brother. "You're not prince Loptr anymore, are you? You're _Blueskin_ , prince of whores."

"What are you going to do?" Loki said, struggling despite his brother's cold hold.

He felt sick. He felt so sick, and now he was eye to eye with 'Boda and could see they had done something to her, beaten her so badly she was bruised and dazed. They must have been forcing the way to the cottage out of her. Loki wanted to vomit. Actually, now he did, turning to the side and retching all over the dinosaur's flanks and his own boots.

His brothers and Svadilfari laughed.

"It's not what we're going to do," Byleistr said lightly. "It's what you're going to do. You've been so, so naughty, running off to the Ironwood, Blueskin. Disappearing on all of us, making your poor family fear you were dead. And I think you and Thor will fight when he finds you. And I think you'll kill _him_ , and then —"

His voice became gleeful.

"—then Odin will demand we give him his heir's murderer. And you look nothing like you did before. Have you seen how ugly you are now? Bright blue with the shame of giving your cunt away. But even if Odin should figure out who you really are, what does it matter? You know Odin cares for you far, far less than he cares for Thor."

 _No_ , Loki thought, struggling against his bonds. _No._

Helblindi grinned.

"Time to go Thor-hunting, Svad," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> downside: literally everything happening right now  
> upside: if I can get my misbegotten act together, there will be an extra update this week, so keep an eye out for that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update!

It was a bitterly cold, pale purple morning in the Ironwood when Thor decided that his intended was dead.

He didn't decide it because there was any concrete proof. He decided in that he willed it into being, chose it as the likeliest and best possibility. And hated himself for it.

Something had clearly gone wrong in Utgard, with the Loptr investigation, and so Loptr deserved Thor's attention. If Thor were a better man he would give it. But Loptr didn't need him as Blueskin did. Hilgenar of Frostberg had had choice words for Thor about Blueskin, about the wisdom of subjecting a giant that small and that pregnant to a journey as treacherous as the one Thor and Blueskin had undertaken. About Blueskin's evident exhaustion and need for a proper midwife. About the scars on the insides of his thighs.

"I thought those were markings," Thor had said, confused.

"Markings? Are you mad? He's so far along that his color's gone bright and his markings have completely faded," said Hilgenar. "It's standard, for a giant with child. The markings may return with time, but so long as the babe's in him what you're seeing are stretch marks and then those scars there. My guess is someone tried to cut the babe out of him. Badly. The other guess is they were just trying to kill him."

That Hilgenar had plainly thought Thor the culprit had made Thor rage, but not as much as Thor raged at the fact that he himself couldn't guess at who had hurt his little giant, for he didn't know enough about Blueskin to guess. 

_Who?_ Thor's mind roared, for the next solid week. _Who did this to you? Who hurt you like this?_

He knew better than to think Blueskin would tell him. The giant was always cagey and confusing when speaking of himself. Backstories would shift and stretch into new backstories, details would be swapped for newer, better details. He plainly expected Thor not to care enough to catch him at his lies, but Thor did care. Thor had cared for nearly three months now, had spent that time listening closely to the little giant as he spun his tales. 

Thor needed someone to take Blueskin in hand. Someone kind. Someone who could guide Blueskin to honesty, or at least help Thor determine just what kept Blueskin from telling him the truth. Someone who could prepare Blueskin for the trials Blueskin might face in Asgard as Thor's chosen — hell, someone who could convince the little giant to leave this awful place for Asgard, where Blueskin could be properly cared for. 

So after Thor killed two velociraptors, he practiced what he would say as he dragged the carcasses back toward the cottage.

"Allmother," he began.

No.

"Esteemed Allmother."

Better.

"Esteemed Allmother, this is my—"

Oh Norns. Blueskin could not be _his_ until he was deemed good enough for the line of Bor, but in the meantime, what was Thor to call him? Lover? Blueskin was more than that. He was companion, constant trial, bitter irritation, and sincere obsession. He was trickster and tormenter, an overdramatic little brat and deeply beloved, to boot. He was something dangerous, too, in that he'd managed to lure Thor from his duty to Loptr, his duty to Odin and to Asgard. And possibly the Allmother knew that already.

"This is Blueskin," Thor decided. "He's my Blueskin."

There. Perfect. Also very stupid, but Thor could probably pull it off anyway, if he made his grin charming enough and his gratitude for Frigga plain enough.

Now he dragged the dinosaurs over the bridge and piled them near the horse, then let himself into the cottage, plan set. Blueskin, the brat, wasn't in bed, so with a growl Thor reached for his hammer and hefted it up as he made his way to the nettle garden. Blueskin clearly needed sense frightened into him. 

Blueskin wasn't in the garden. He wasn't in or under the bed, or in the pool, or in the unlatched outhouse. And his boots were gone, and Thor, retracing his own steps, found that his trail ended at the bridge, where Thor had thoughtlessly dragged the dinosaurs right over his footsteps and so ruined any chance of tracking him properly. 

"Heimdall!" Thor shouted, panic mounting as he returned to the cottage to try and find some clue as to where Blueskin might have gone. "Heimdall! Come at once! Blueskin's gone missing!"

Heimdall didn't shimmer into view this time. Odin did. Thor's own father, canny and stooped. His mouth was thin with dissatisfaction, his eye cold. He raked his gaze over the rough-hewn little cottage like nothing he saw could possibly please him.

"Thor."

Thor's thoughts of Blueskin, of finding him and bringing him to Asgard, proposing that they be wed, suddenly stuttered to halt. Such thoughts did not seem to work right, with his father's gaze taking him apart like this.

"Where's Heimdall?" Thor managed.

"That is not your concern. The Allmother has been making preparations to come to Jotunheim, unbeknownst to me, because you have apparently told Heimdall you might call her here. And now I find _you_ far from Utgard, far from where Loptr was last held to be. Why?"

Thor took in a breath. He didn't want to have this conversation now. He didn't want to have it at all. He wanted to look for Blueskin. But that Odin was here meant Odin now stood at the watchman's post, casting his one-eyed gaze over all the realms.

"I'm looking for someone."

"You are looking for Loptr, boy."

"No," Thor admitted. And since that was a bad enough defiance, he decided to toss the rest out, too. Haltingly, he told his father everything: of the wager and the first nights here, the journey out of Utgard and the condition of his former bedwarmer. The fact that Thor couldn't leave Blueskin, couldn't trade him for the pitiful, missing Loptr. 

And perhaps this communicated just what he shouldn't tell Odin. That Blueskin, not Loptr, had his heart. That Thor did not know whether Loptr lived or died, but Thor did not care, either. Loptr was not Thor's choice. Blueskin was.

Anger made some men bestial. Thor had traveled enough to see it, how anger and cruelty could warp. He'd seen it here on Jotunheim, even, in that damnable temple halfway up the mountain. But with Odin, anger worked the opposite way. Anger made the great king ever more remote, more clipped and cold and untouchable, even as he raised his voice and his expression dimmed with horror.

"You have wasted all these months on a wretched, worthless _whore_?" Odin cried.

Thor did not flinch or cower, but he couldn't suppress a grimace. He could not bear the way Odin now regarded him, as though he was a failure in his father's eyes.

"You have a duty," his father spat, "to Asgard, and to your brother! And since you have not been able to resolve Loptr's death quietly, now we shall have to do it in just the way I didn't want to. And it shall be on your head!"

"The way you didn't want to?" Thor asked, dread taking hold of him. "What do you mean?"

Odin spoke through clenched teeth.

" _Think_ , and be not a fool for once in your life! Do you think I will let the giants simply disappear Loptr? A child I had such hopes for, a child I poured so much into?"

Thor had to shake his head at this.

"You didn't even write to him," he pointed out, despite knowing it was better to hold his tongue. 

"I wrote what I needed to say," Odin snapped. "He was my son like you are, and had a part to play for the nine realms."

"What part?" Thor said, for if he was in for a penny, he was in for every single horrible truth he had learned since coming here. "You make me responsible for Loptr now, but he was _your_ responsibility! And you left him here, father, in this backwards realm, to be raised by Laufey and Laufey's cruelty. That is your fault, father. The state of all Jotunheim is your fault, for you could have intervened—"

"Intervene we shall, and the lives lost shall be your punishment," snapped Odin. "And do not dare to tell me I did not do my duty. I would have given you a fellow king to serve and attend to and complement you, a bride as no other—"

"Your neglect likely killed my bride!" Thor said, striking the table with his hammer and watching it shatter to prove the point. "That is the common thread, the main reason we no longer seem to have Loptr!"

"So you settle for a whore instead?" Odin said, scornful. "A creature that can never be worthy of you?"

"He is worthy!" Thor insisted. "He is the one I want, father—"

"And why should I let you have him?" Odin spat. "Even if he were not as low as you describe, as despised by his own people, why should I reward you for neglecting your duty?"

Thor shook his head. This was all wrong. Blueskin wasn't a reward, wasn't a toy he was begging Odin to let him play with. And he should not have to justify loving the little giant to Odin. Hadn't Odin been allowed to wed the one he wanted, in the end? Why was Thor not given the same right? Thor had tumbled into a million loveless beds at his father's command. Why was he not permitted the one being he actually wanted? 

But this was how things went with Odin. Thor could never seem to grasp the way the conversation flowed, the way the orders flowed. Now he cast about for something to show Odin, something to make clear that Thor meant to have his beloved, that Odin could not keep Thor from Blueskin.

"What is so special about this giant, other than how he spreads his legs?" Odin asked, coldly, as if he could read Thor's mind. "Show me one thing to justify your interest in him at the cost of your brother."

Thor looked around at their little home together, the cosy bed, the gurgling pool. The bunches of purple-blue nettles piled on the windowpanes, the brand new comb Blueskin had delighted over. The ragged rucksack hung by Thor's cloak and the saddlebags in the corner, overflowing with the berries and leafy ferns Blueskin insisted on gathering in the forest. Was this not enough? Was Thor happy for once not enough?

But no. That would never be enough for Odin. Thor closed his eyes and thought. Odin was always upending him, but Heimdall — Heimdall generally led Thor to where he needed to go. True, there had been nothing in the rucksack before. But something told Thor to trust in the watchman. 

He reached for the rucksack. He half-expected it would be empty again, but this time his hand closed on something cool and hard. A ring. Large enough for a full-sized giant. When Thor pulled it out into the purple light, confused, he could see how the jewel-eyed raven soared above the golden goat.

Queen Farbauti's signet ring.

"I don't understand," Thor said. "Why would he have this?"

"He's a thief!" Odin decided, disdain clear on his face. "Your whore took that from Loptr. He must have. Loptr never would have given it up."

Blueskin had tried to steal before. And from Loptr, too. But Thor didn't want to believe this.

"I must find him," he said. "I must speak to him, get an explanation."

"You must do nothing of the sort," Odin said, finality in his tone. "You must come home to Asgard, and prepare to make war on the giants."

"I need more time," Thor said, pleading now. "Father, just let me—"

"Say goodbye?" Odin said. "Why should a whore and thief merit a goodbye? No. You come home now."

-

Thor didn't.

As he clattered out of the cottage and made a dash across the bridge Odin opened the Bifrost, its great light bursting onto the snow and melting the layer of ice over the buried lake. But Thor took hold of his hammer and let it propel him into the forest, away from the Bifrost. Behind him he heard the shouts of the men his father had sent to retrieve him.

He had to find Blueskin. Had to have an explanation for this ring, so heavy in his hand. Whatever the relation between Blueskin and Loptr, why had Blueskin stolen from the prince? The ring could not be pawned or sold for coin. It was too distinctive. It benefitted Blueskin not at all to have it.

Behind Thor, there were more shouts. Thor let himself drop beneath a great grove of plum trees, frightening the quails and snakes, and listened. 

Though it was better to keep moving, those shouts were familiar. Odin didn't want to catch his son like a bug in a snare, it seemed. He wanted to make Thor agree to come home, properly, by surrounding Thor with those he felt closest to, reminding him of his realm and duty.

So it was Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, and the Lady Sif who ran into the clearing. At any other time Thor might have been overjoyed to see them, his oldest friends, who had known him since he'd first arrived on Asgard.

Volstagg was out of breath.

"Thor!" he said. "Your father commands that—"

"I know," Thor said. "But no. I need to find someone."

He watched as unsurprised resignation settled on all four faces, as they rearranged their plans to suit his. They always did that. Truth be told, Thor had missed it a bit. Blueskin never fell in line when Thor needed him to. But that was part of his charm. Thor explained hurriedly that he was looking for him, and why, trying to be clear about it without sacrificing too much time.

"Your lover is a pregnant Jotunn youth with skin of the brightest blue?" Fandral said, immediately delighted. 

"The maiden sounds passably fair," Volstagg allowed.

"The maiden does not sound like a maiden," noted Hogun, ever accurate about these things.

"In more ways than one. And you don't believe he's a thief?" Sif said, regarding Thor carefully. 

An overlarge spider dropped down from the tree above her and she punched it without preamble. Thor stared at her with fondness. Though he was worried about Blueskin, and felt dread over his father and the signet ring, he could not help but feel relieved to have his friends here. The Ironwood was a dank, dangerous place, but between the five of them they stood a chance of locating Blueskin and protecting him from the beasts of the wood.

"I don't know what to believe. I only know that I care for him," Thor admitted to his friends. "He cannot have gone far, not in his condition. If we fan out, we can find him."

"Leave you the minute we found you?" Volstagg said. The bearded corners of his mouth drooped, showing what he thought of this plan. 

"Please," Thor said. "I need to find him. It's the most important thing right now."

Though they grumbled, his friends did as bid, all but Sif. She stayed by him doggedly despite his order.

"What about your betrothed?" she said. "The prince? Odin made it known after you left for Jotunheim that you were investigating the death of the one promised to you."

She sounded annoyed, and it took Thor a moment to realize why.

"I didn't know he was my betrothed any more than anyone else did. The Jotnar all seemed to know, at least the ones in Laufey's court. But father never told me."

"Nor anyone else. I wonder why not," Sif said. She was frowning as she used her sword to hack through the grey-blue undergrowth. "Did he not want Asgard to know he'd promised you to the most savage and backwards of the realms?"

"Savage and backwards because father permitted them to become so, surely," Thor said. 

He had met good Jotnar on this journey. Decent sorts. Sorts that deserved better than the strictures Odin had let Laufey impose on them. 

"If Loptr had been known to be your betrothed, he and Jotunheim would have been held in great esteem, never mind their customs," Sif said now, as they rooted among the trees and bushes for some sign of footprints, of anything that might lead them to Blueskin. "But if it wasn't known, your bride would have arrived in Asgard as a shock to the populace. He would have had to prove himself."

Thor grunted. That sounded like Odin. But he didn't want to talk of Loptr. He was done with poor, tragic Loptr, for all that he pitied the prince and wished things had been different. Now Thor only thought of Blueskin.

"He never could prove himself to you, not now," Sif said, like she knew the general direction of his thoughts. "This other giant has your heart, doesn't he?"

"He's my Blueskin," Thor said, which was a yes.

"Do you really call him that? To his face? _My_ Blueskin?"

"Yes," Thor said. "Why? Is that odd?"

Sif made a face that indicated it was, to her. Before Thor could protest that his Blueskin found it endearing, probably, or at least Thor thought he ought to, a laugh rang through the clearing.

They stopped. In the shadow of a great, thick bramble bush crawling with overlarge insects, there stood a giant. Nine or so feet tall, with a great scar across one side of his face. His markings were unusual, like interlocking horseshoes. Thor struggled to recall where he'd heard of markings like these.

"I couldn't help but overhear," the giant said, holding out his hands. "And I'm sure he does like it. Our Blueskin."

"Ours?" Thor growled.

Thor's. Or at least Blueskin's own. Perhaps that was better, more fair to the little giant. Either way, he certainly couldn't belong to this ruffian. Thor could not remember where he'd heard about the horseshoe markings, but he was sure it was nowhere good.

The new giant shot them a wicked grin. 

"He pretends he doesn't want to belong to anyone. But get him moaning under you and you know the truth, eh, Prince Thor?"

Thor's hand tightened on his hammer.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How have you come here? Did you follow us from Utgard? Are you one of Laufey's spies?"

Should Heimdall not have spotted him and warned Thor, in that case?

The giant gestured at himself, a loose and easy gesture that complemented the widening of his smile.

"Who am I? You mean to say he hasn't mentioned me? I'm the man who has every right to track Blueskin to the ends of the earth. I'm the father."

"Of the babe?" Thor said, revulsion crawling over him. It could not be a coincidence that Blueskin was missing and this creature calling himself the father had appeared. "Why would he mention you? You seem to be completely irrelevant."

"Oh, are you threatened?" said the giant. "Why? Because I fucked him first? He screamed his head off. Plowed him so hard it's a miracle he survived it, but he liked it, the little slut."

"Right," Thor decided. "I'm going to beat your face in."

As he lunged for the giant, the giant lunged for Sif. This was a stupid move, an amateur move, as Sif could more than hold her own. They grappled and Sif emerged the clear winner, kicking the giant in the teeth and sending him reeling back. Thor went for him then, but the giant darted sideways, still grinning horribly for all that now his mouth was full of blood.

"Raise that hammer to me, and you'll never find your Blueskin," he hissed, spitting a tooth into the undergrowth. 

Then he turned tail and ran, the coward. Thor gave chase. It would have been easy to fling his hammer at the giant's head and kill him. But his words rang in Thor's mind, and Thor could not shake the sense that somehow, whoever this new giant was, he had escaped the watchful eye of Asgard. And now he was leading Thor into a trap, but Thor but didn't care so long as that trap contained Blueskin. He would figure out the rest when he got there. He heard Sif right behind him, cursing at every twisting branch that smacked them in the face and every huge snake or insect they had to dodge. The giant darted around trees and leapt over frozen streams, leading them deeper and deeper into the forest.

Until they practically fell into a clearing. It wasn't a natural clearing, like the one that held the cottage, but rather one that had been hastily beaten into place by three braying dinosaurs. One of these mounts carried the bruised, bloody form of the giantess Jarnsaxa had introduced Thor to, all those months ago in the Goat's Tit. Prince Helblindi-or-Byleistr sneered over her. His brother stood in the center of the clearing, over Blueskin.

Thor heard Sif give a gasp behind him.

They had bound Blueskin, stripped him naked, and forced him to his knees on the freezing ground. He was shaking with cold, for here it was freezing even for a frost giant. The giant Thor had been pursuing loomed over him as well now, leering.

"Throw that hammer and I drive my steel-capped boot into his belly," he said. "Let's see who's faster, me or you."

Thor didn't need to throw the hammer. He could launch himself at them, beat their heads into the mossy forest floor until their blood painted his hands. But Blueskin's shivering form stopped him short. The little giant said nothing, just looked at Thor with anguish in his eyes.

"We know why you're really here on Jotunheim," said the prince looming over him.

"Do you, Helblindi," Thor said.

"Byleistr," snapped this prince.

"Don't care," Thor said.

"You're on Jotunheim because you think we killed Loptr!" Prince Byleistr declared. "It offends us. We didn't kill him, did we, Blueskin?"

Blueskin gave a soundless sob. He shook his head.

"Let go of him," Thor said, passing his hammer from hand to hand to gauge their reaction times. Both the scarred giant and Prince Byleistr moved closer to Blueskin, but slowly enough that Thor thought he could take them both out without seeing him harmed.

"Not yet," Prince Byleistr said. "I think we should chat, you and I. We have a rare opportunity to do so, Prince Thor. For once, we need not worry about anyone up in your realm peering in or overhearing." 

Thor frowned, certain the prince was confirming that he and his fellows had put themselves beyond the gaze of Heimdall somehow, but still unable to see how. Byleistr, for his part, kept speaking.

"First. Did little Blueskin ever tell you about that first night you spent with him?"

"I know you cheated him," Thor growled. "Promised him money and didn't pay. Told him I wanted a silent bedslave."

Byleistr laughed outright. "Did he tell you how frightened he was? How he didn't want it? Did you want it, Blueskin?"

Horribly, heartbreakingly, the little giant shook his head again. Thor felt the bottom drop out of his world.

"You said you weren't frightened," he told Blueskin now. "You said it wasn't rape."

Blueskin closed his eyes, silent. Thor wanted to take the wood apart with his bare hands. He lunged at Byleistr. Sif gave a shout. The scarred giant, good on his word, aimed a savage kick at Blueskin. Thor swerved to block it, but there was no need. The boot passed through nothing. Air. Thor hit the ground face-first and stared at Blueskin's naked, shimmering form, and realized what he was really looking at.

Light.

In the ensuing confusion that followed, Sif attacked the other prince (also light), the scarred giant tried to jump on Thor and Thor had the pleasure of sending him whirling into the trees with a crack, and Byleistr backed away, honorless as he was. Thor advanced on him.

"I think I've owed you this for some time, Helblindi," he said, hefting his hammer.

"Byleistr," hissed the giant.

"Don't care," said Thor, and hit him so hard blood spattered the silver-blue leaves of the Ironwood.


	18. Chapter 18

One nice thing about having a knife was that Loki could wriggle about, get it into his hands, and then carefully cut free of his bonds while his brothers plotted.

"'Boda," Loki whispered, when this was done. It took more work yet to cut the old woman free. He had to be careful about it, for she was so large and he so clumsy, and he didn't want to aggravate her wounds. When her once-beautiful red eyes opened, now crusty at the corners, he put a finger to his lips. He thanked Ymir that Helblindi and Byleistr were too preoccupied to notice what he was doing. They were quarreling about whether to strip him before Thor arrived, or to make him strip himself after.

"Our Loki," Angrboda whispered. "I'm sorry. The brute you asked us to pay off, he answers to your brothers. They made me show them the way here —"

"I know. I'm sorry too," Loki said, gentle as he tried to get her free. "Don't move yet. Let them think we're still tied."

He stooped now to get the ropes he had cut off of himself, trying to arrange them into some image that might give the impression he was still securely captive.

Image. Some image. 

Though the idea that came to him was mad, it was still an idea. A plan, at least. What a relief to have a plan, however unlikely its success. It didn't hinge on Loki, though. That was the trouble.

He put his hands on his belly, on the terrible, wonderful hijacking that had plagued him for months. He breathed in deep. The little slippery kick that answered him made him almost want to cry. Sigyn, at the brothel, had said it was possible to make a baby loose its hold on magic. His mother had said the same once.

 _Hello,_ Loki thought. _I know you must be tired of all the riding and traveling. Being carted about. Being poked and smacked, prodded and spat on. Me too, my thousand-legs. My world-destroyer, my obstinate complainer. No wonder you wrap yourself so greedily in magic. I would too, after everything I have subjected you to._

_But I need you to stop._

_Not for me. I wouldn't ask you to stop for me. I'm the one that got you into this mess. But there is one who has been kind to us. Loved us, even._

_Help me protect him, child._

He waited. Long moments passed, marked only by the squabbling of his brothers and the distant shrieks of winged dinosaurs. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. Loki had hardly been especially kind to his child. It owed him nothing, just as he owed Odin nothing. 

He shoved away his disappointment. Another plan, then. He could not let them lure Thor here, so he would have to creep away, try and find Thor himself. He let drop his ropes again and began helping Angrboda down as best he could, the old woman grimacing with pain, though her large fingers curled steadily around Loki's hand. 

"Svad should have found him by now," Loki heard Byleistr say. "Well, if he doesn't, I will."

Then Byleistr was making off into the undergrowth. Helblindi stayed behind and began to stretch himself out on a mossy log, loose-limbed and cheerful. But some sixth sense made him stop and freeze. Hurriedly, Loki helped Angrboda back on the dinosaur and picked up his ropes again, again trying to play at still being bound.

Helblindi approached him now. His cruel red eyes raked over Loki's form.

"Right. Let's get you naked," he said, coming close. "It's funnier if you're naked, isn't it? And it'll make it easier, if Svad wants a go at you after. Arrogant runt charges so much, but he'll shave off some gold if we pay in little Loptr-cunt."

Loki didn't want that. Rage scraped his brain, screamed at the thought of Svadilfari taking him again, the thought of another _rape_. He was reacting before he knew what he was doing, dropping into the stance Thor had shown him, all darts and elbows, and bringing his knife up into Helblindi's gut. His brother was so shocked he could only stare at the protruding knife hilt, stumbling to his knees. Loki, bitter and furious, caught Helblindi's big jaw as he slumped down in the grass.

"Shhh," Loki told him, blinking back a triumphant grin. "Not a sound now. I'll bet Prince Thor will like you better if you don't make a sound."

Angrboda, meanwhile, struggled down again from the dinosaur, breathing heavily. Though the blood matting the front of her dress looked fresh, after her being moved so much, she still fixed a big hand on Helblindi's mouth, cutting off the struggling prince's air. She helped Loki drag him to a little ways off from the clearing, where fat Ironwood mushrooms blocked a sloping trench from view. There in the trench they dumped Loki's squirming half-brother, trussing him with the same ropes he'd used on them. When this was done, Helblindi's gaze was murderous. Loki pulled his knife out and watched the prince convulse with pain, blood burbling up like a fountain.

Maybe Loki should be upset by this. But he'd been raised in the temple complex, watched as giants were flayed or branded or cut open for an array of sins. He felt little now, other than tired. How nice it had been to escape all that with Thor, for a time.

Thor. He had to keep them from hurting Thor. He had to warn Thor. 

In the distance, he heard a shout that sounded suspiciously like Byleistr, announcing that he planned to return to the campsite.

"'Boda, we must go stop Byleistr," Loki said, turning to the old woman. But Angrboda was slumped in the trench herself, eyes closed. He reached for her, panicky, and then felt it.

There was no way to explain it, other than to say it was like he'd been choking, and now he could breathe. Withered and stifled, and now he could bloom. The magic that rushed back into his blood was simple and and dangerous and abundant, a buried stream suddenly exposed to light. 

Whispering a hazy reassurance to Angrboda, he scrambled up the bank. He didn't know how long his power would last, but he was determined to use it. By mapping out the Allmother's spell in runes, he'd helped himself understand how she made her light-shows, her illusions. And he'd realized, too, that his would have to be different. His power was better rooted in the places light wasn't, in shadow and absence, and then there was the fact that the light on Jotunheim was so different, the atmosphere was different, than what the Allmother had perhaps been working with. 

So every image he called up was an image in the testing stages, half-guesswork. 

A naked, shivering Loki. Helblindi standing above him. He added Angrboda and the dinosaur, too, working quickly, pouring his power into the air itself. The spell would need to last even as he moved away, and would need to respond like the real thing. This too was more guesswork, but he'd thought these pieces through while on bedrest, so he felt confident pouring them in. The only thing he hadn't yet thought through was how to make them speak, how to give his illusions real voices. But then what did that matter? 

_Byleistr will think he has cowed me into silence, that is all_ , Loki decided.

He took the reins to the dinosaur that had held Angrboda and prodded the massive beast, leading it down into the trench. Then he helped the old woman back on again, as Byleistr came whistling into the clearing above them.

"Look at that. Naked suits you," Loki heard his brother jeer. He felt the illusion answer Byleistr, Helblindi-image chuckling soundlessly, Loki-image attempting to cover itself. It worked. It would hold. Loki let out a breath, relieved, and passed a hand over his belly.

 _Thank you,_ he told the babe, meaning it sincerely.

Then he stabbed Helblindi twice more, to keep him weak and quiet, and began to lead the dinosaur away, to find and warn Thor.

-

He did not find Thor. He thought perhaps if he went back to the cottage he would, Thor would appear somehow, but the closer he got to the cottage the more silent and eerie the forest was, as though all the insects and beasts had been scared off.

He understood why when he neared the cottage clearing and found the once-frozen streams rushing and dancing beneath his feet. Heat hung in the air and rainbow light poured through the trees. Loki felt his skin prickle and burn and the dinosaur reared horribly. Angrboda gave a moan as Loki scrambled to pull her down. In the confusion, she fell to the ground and the dinosaur, braying with dismay, thundered off between the trees.

Loki then had to help her up, his massive friend. Between them they made it to the clearing, where that bright light poured itself from the sky into the lake, melting the ice falls to regular water. Loki stared, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. 

The Bifrost. It must be the Bifrost, the great rainbow bridge that meant Asgard never had to waste time and energy constructing travel spells. But who was traveling to Jotunheim, and why? Or was someone traveling _from_ Jotunheim? Thor? Was Thor going now? 

Surely he wouldn't just leave. The thought that he might was black and devouring. Loki could have collapsed under it if he weren't trying to pull Angrboda to the safety of the cottage.

They had to go around the great light-column, the heat unbearable, to reach the iron bridge. There the scorching metal seemed to burn through Loki's boots and he cried out despite himself. Though the cottage was fine, the hog sty Thor had been converting to a stable was demolished, for the Bifrost must have spooked the horse and made him run away. Loki helped Angrboda into the house and bed, casting about for Thor, but Thor wasn't in the main room nor in the nettle garden. And when Loki stumbled back out to the front, still no Thor.

He stood staring at the Bifrost, sweat pouring off of him. There was a twinge in his lower abdomen now, like an insistent little cramp, coming at intervals. He hissed and clutched his belly, hoping he hadn't hurt the babe by demanding his magic.

He didn't know how long he stood there, despairing, wondering if he should give himself over to the Bifrost in case that was the only way to follow Thor. But then what would become of Angrboda?

"Blueskin!" someone shouted. "Blueskin!"

Not Thor. These were three men, each oddly-colored as Thor was, but in their own ways. One was fat, one purposeful and serious, and the third slim and dapper. They rushed across the bridge without being burnt and surrounded him. Loki clutched his knife.

"We will not hurt you, young one!" said the slim one, holding out his hands. "Thor has asked us to look for you!"

"Why is the Bifrost here?" Loki demanded. "Why has Thor called you here?"

He'd been promised the Allmother. Not three strangers watching him carefully like they knew something he didn't.

"He makes demands like a little prince, doesn't he?" said the fat one to the others, in what he probably thought was an undertone. "Though I don't know why Thor said he was small. He's six feet or I'm an egg."

Loki felt those throbbing cramps again. He didn't put down his knife.

"Where is Thor?" he said again. "I want Thor. I must warn him."

"And he you," said the most serious and watchful of the three. "The Allfather has summoned him back to Asgard. Yet he would not leave without speaking to you."

"Charges are laid against you, lovely one," put in the dapper one. "Or may be. Thor would know why you carry Prince Loptr's signet ring."

The rucksack. Thor had looked inside the rucksack again. Oh, Loki was so _stupid_. Now he did collapse, stumbling under a more painful twinge yet, and with a shout the dapper Aesir moved to lift him up. 

"Did you steal it?" said the serious one.

"He's leaving because he thinks I'm a thief?" Loki asked, trying to understand.

None of the men would meet his eyes. The fat one said, gently, "He leaves because the Allfather has called him, young one. But yes, he found Prince Loptr's ring in your possession. And he has told Asgard what you are, of your profession. You must know that whatever he feels for you, to stay with you would not be... seemly."

Loki closed his eyes. No. No, no of course not. Thor might speak passionately about how much more advanced the Aesir were, how much less prudish, how much more accepting. But Thor was a prince and Loki now only a whore, and that would be the case on Asgard as it was Jotunheim. 

They heard a distant shout. Thor. Loki opened his eyes now to see Thor emerging from the forest, his furs bloodstained. Loki gave a start, fearing the worst. But Thor moved with purpose. Behind him there was a beautiful woman, so beautiful Loki immediately decided he hated her. Nearly as much as he hated this awful light and heat, and the cramps that kept coming from his poor, beleaguered babe. 

Thor held up the signet ring as he crossed the bridge, wordlessly, like he couldn't even bring himself to ask. Loki wondered why this should be so important, why this and not the fact that Thor was being ordered away. Maybe he'd been wrong to think Thor might love him, love Blueskin. Maybe it was the unsullied, sad little Loptr who would always hold Thor's devotion. That was an ugly thought, for Loki was no longer Loptr and would never be him again, didn't even want to be him.

"Do you really care about him?" Loki said, as Thor came near. "Loptr? You never even met him."

Thor stopped up short.

"I should have cared for him," he said, short about it. "I do not, but I should have. Were you stealing from him? Betraying him? You must tell me. My father, he does not approve of my association with you."

Thor's tone became pleading.

"My Blueskin, I seek to prove him wrong. Help me prove him wrong. Tell me why you were keeping this, hiding it from me—"

Loki began to laugh. He couldn't help it. Odin disapproved of Thor associating with a whore. Of course Odin disapproved. Odin had wanted for Thor a scared little shadow, a meek and suicidal Loptr to prop up Thor's glory. 

And now Odin was taking Thor, for the crime of Loki being Blueskin. Loki not being Loptr. Loki choosing who he was to be, instead of letting Odin choose for him. Loki wanted to tear something apart.

"It doesn't even matter," he said, half-snarling. "Loptr didn't care what Odin thought, and neither do I. And anyway, of course I had it all these months. Loptr wasn't using it. But by all means, take it back to Odin now. Let it remind him that all his plans for Loptr came to _nothing_."

"What are you taking about? What's wrong with you?" Thor demanded. 

Loki shoved the dapper Aesir off and stumbled toward the cottage. Thor reached for him, grabbing his arm. It was a sudden pain and Loki gave a cry. His twinges gave way to an odd feeling, like a pop, and then so much was flowing out of him that he was ruining his robe. When he realized what was happening, his despair became tinged with sheer hysteria. 

"Your father has his own idea of a helpmeet for you and I'm not it!" he snarled, finding the strength to shove Thor off. "I don't want to be it! So go! Leave me to have my baby in peace, Thor!"

"I want you! I don't care if he doesn't!" Thor said. He was still waving that damnable ring about. "Just give me the explanation for this! Did you get it from Loptr? How? Why would he give it to you?"

Loki began to laugh again, despite himself.

Angrboda was badly hurt, Nurse likely dead, and the babe was coming. And Thor was leaving. Loki knew he could just say it, could come out with it. And then Thor would know he had lied. And everyone would know what had become of Loptr, how Loptr had traded Thor for hardship and suffering, just to stop being Loptr once and for all.

 _And then what will this suffering be_ for _?_ he thought despairingly. _So that Odin may reject me under my own name? Name me Loptr again and then dismiss me for being fallen and whorish? I don't even want to be Loptr. Blueskin's situation may be horrible, but at least it's of my own design._

"I took the ring when I killed him," Loki decided. "When I shoved him off a dock in the temple complex. He drowned. I wanted him to drown."

Loki watched the horror spread across Thor's friends faces and was perversely glad he'd caused it. And he'd only had to lie such a little bit. He'd even had had the ring in his pocket when he'd tried to kill himself. He'd kept it ever since his mother's death. But he didn't care about it now. He wasn't sure he cared about anything.

But Thor's answer was immediate, less an answer than a howl.

"I don't believe you!"

"Believe what you want," Loki said. He was in pain now, the twinges were so intense.

Thor shook his head and stepped back, waving back his friends as if afraid they might hurt Loki. With a few more steps he was in that column of light, and then he was gone.

-

After that it was not a pleasant labor. When Angrboda heard his screams she roused herself, despite her pain, and it was her aid that got him through it, her knowledge and the stuttering magic she poured into making it all easier.

"It'll be alright, our Loki," she kept saying. "You'll live through this. You will."

Loki knew that. He somehow knew that he wouldn't die, for all that he wanted to again, and that neither would the babe. When it was in his arms he felt sorry for it, that he was what it would have for its parent. It suckled him greedily, ravenous, and he wondered if he would ever be enough for it. 

Suddenly he felt stupid, thinking he could come to the Ironwood and make things better. Things would not be better.

-

Angrboda named the baby Sleipnir, because Loki could not seem to come up with a name for him. Loki tried to do everything else for him, tried to feed him and hold him and change him, rock him in the cradle Thor had built for him. But it was like he was moving through a fog. That sense of guilt and pity for the babe didn't leave him, only grew. And it was difficult to think of the baby, otherwise. Instead his mind would drift confusingly to Thor, shy away from the pain of that, and then think of his nurse. Jarnsaxa of the Cloth had to be dead, and it shocked him how painful the thought was. She'd taught him everything, his history and his politics, his first glimmers of magic. And now she was gone.

Angrboda, too, was not the same. Though her body healed and she was restored to her old reassuring kindness, within a few days she fell ill. Loki did his best to nurse her, but the sickness made her dim. At times she seemed to look at Loki and scarcely know who he was. 

Her spells around the cottage had faded that day she'd been dragged away from Loki's brothers, bleeding from her wounds. With her last glimmers of sound mind she taught Loki how to make his own, so that the cottage tucked into the ice falls would again be hidden from any who might do them harm. 

For Loki's own magic did come back. That was the one relief. His body still felt off, belly slightly distended for a time, breasts still heavy, otherwise gangly and ugly as a scarecrow. His color stayed horribly bright, his markings dun. But his magic returned. To try and stave off the smothering anxiety that would come on him most nights, he worked on new spells. Spells to travel. To quiet hunger. To copy the effect of the Allmother's wondrous orbs. To give voice to illusions. There was no paper in the cottage so he mapped his runes on the walls using charcoal from the firepit, for Angrboda was often in too much of an ill daze to tell him to stop.

The ice falls and lake again froze over. Once Loki climbed to the top of the cliff, high above even the trees of the Ironwood, and looked out over not simply the forest but the whole of the Snowpeak, stretching down to Utgard. Flashing lights were going off, and it took him a few minutes to realize this was the Bifrost, more Aesir arriving on Jotunheim. 

Of course. Odin had not cared for Loptr, but he would want to avenge the loss of such a useful pawn. The carnage would be worse than Thor's storm at the temple, so long ago.

Loki knew it was his fault. He contemplated throwing himself from the cliff, but then Sleipnir began to scream from hunger. Sleipnir hardly ever screamed, and always slept through the night, and was generally very good despite Loki's persistent inattention towards him. Loki felt such a deep sense of guilt for forgetting him that he climbed back down to the cottage, and didn't kill himself that day.

He couldn't tell if weeks or months had passed, but eventually the Bifrost lit up his clearing again and out stumbled the warriors he'd seen with Thor. Fat, serious, slim, and beautiful. They gazed at the ice falls, unable to perceive the cottage now that Loki's spell was up. They began to call for him, or for Blueskin, anyway.

Loki was nursing Sleipnir in the front garden. He let them call until that was done and he could put his tits away. He left the child gurgling in his cradle and pulled on the robe Thor had bought him, though it was by now quite dirty and ragged. It hung too large on Loki now that he was slimmer, and as he crossed the bridge he wondered what he would seem like to these Aesir. A gaunt, half-mad forest-witch, surely.

If he offended their eyes, they gave no sign of it. The moment he stepped off the bridge and into view, the beautiful woman held a letter out to him. Loki took it. It seemed pointless to delay reading it, so he slid it open with a fingernail.

_I do not believe you, Blueskin. You are not a killer._

Just like that. Without preamble or proper address. But then Thor explained that Asgard and Jotunheim were at war, that Prince Byleistr and a nine-foot runt were back in Utgard and leading the giants against Thor's people, and that Prince Helblindi appeared to have died somehow in the Ironwood. 

So what did Thor know.

_I am expected to do my duty in this war, but it pains me to fight your people, and more than that the thought of you alone in the Ironwood pains me. Byleistr and his servant know your location. I know this servant is the father you could scarcely bring yourself to speak of, and I worry that they will do you harm. Though I am in disgrace with my father, I would protect you, if I could. My friends have agreed to visit you and bring you my letters, to see if you are well. I thought we could write. You could explain why you said what you did, about Loptr. Or if you do not want to explain, do not. But let me know you are safe. Have you had your babe yet? Is the babe safe? I must know these things, or I will despise myself._

Angrboda came across the bridge now, walking with difficulty, eyes unfocused. Though she had her more lucid days this was not one of them, and when she was in sight of the Asgardians she pressed something into the serious one's hand. He looked up at her massive form in shock before she walked away to examine a nearby berry-bramble.

Loki handed the letter back to the woman.

"Tell Thor not to worry about me," he said dismissively. "I'm nothing to Thor."


	19. Chapter 19

Thor knew Blueskin hadn't killed Loptr. The very idea did not feel right. It was a proclamation just shocking enough to push Thor away. To make him clamor for his father's simple, powerful declarations of what should be done. But the moment Thor landed in Heimdall's observatory, he realized that it did not feel _right_.

He swore his friends to secrecy then and there. Though Volstagg sighed and Sif made an irritated face, Hogun seemed unsurprised by Thor's choice. And Fandral declared it the only proper and right choice to make, in the face of true love.

"He left his true love collapsed on the ground in a forest full of dinosaurs and giant insects," Sif pointed out. 

The gnawing, furious guilt tearing through Thor must have shown on his face, for she immediately amended this.

"You can write him," she said. "We will deliver the letters. Won't we?"

The Warriors Three all hastened to agree. Thor wanted not to write but to turn around and re-open the Bifrost. To go back and fix things. Blueskin was alone in the forest now, just him and that baby that would demand to be born in a few weeks, if not a few days. Blueskin might be shouting mad things, but Blueskin needed him. 

But now the doors to the observatory were clanging open. There stood Thor's father, and there went any chance at all of Thor returning to his beloved.

-

After Odin had sent Sif and the Warriors Three to force Thor home, he had immediately turned his gaze to the rest of the nine realms. 

With his ravens, his seneschals, his magic mirrors and thoroughly unmagical lackeys, he called out to the line of Bor. He summoned Bragi and Hodur and Frey, Tyr and Vidarr, Vili and Ve, and even Hela. From every corner came Thor's family, pouring into Asgard with their servants, their giant wolves, their casks of gold (seemingly just to show they possessed great casks of gold, for tax season was long over), their jeweled swords and shrieking rare birds, their children eager for battle, their skeleton warriors, their hunting dogs and tabby cats and exotic camels, their winged serpent steeds and their magical apples of life, their skalds shouting their praises and their personal chefs scurrying about with long lists of highly complicated dishes that required ingredients of stunning rarity and deliciousness.

The council of war was a merry one for all but Thor. For the first time since he'd been named heir, Thor was in disgrace. Serious and public disgrace. It was widely-known that he'd caused the war with Jotunheim. Two things had conspired to make this so.

Firstly, Heimdall, for his role in keeping Thor's confidences, had been banished from his post for a month of punitive reflection, a great blow to the watchman's honor. In his place Odin installed an Aesir named Skurge, apparently the only man in the whole of Asgard who had the glimmers of unflagging, never-tiring sight which characterized Heimdall's own magic. Skurge was a poor replacement. Possibly the Norns had given him his abilities as a joke. He tended to sneak off for off hours in taverns, where he proved himself the sort of person what was very adept at _not_ saying things.

"Now I'm _not_ saying he threw over his duty to his intended, and I'm _not_ saying it was for a Jotunn whore, and I'm _not_ saying the whore had these blue bouncing tits and a good long cock and a slick little cunt, and I'm _not_ saying the whore was knocked up, really knocked up, big and fat with it, and I'm _not_ saying it's likely the prince's, so you can't go around saying I said that, alright?" Skurge apparently said, to all and sundry. 

So the rumor took hold of all Asgard, and then Jord seemed to confirm it. 

Thor's mother was the sole family member not to answer Odin's call. Instead of making an appearance for the war council, she sent a messenger, a whirling being of leaves and oak twigs with a voice like howling winds. It unfurled its missive very carefully and then boomed it out to the whole of the throne room.

"I hear Loptr has been killed. Tragic! Very sad! Of course I did say he should have been taken in by Asgard years ago, but what do I know? I know nothing of childrearing. My child was reared in Asgard, away from me, without the tender love of his mother. It's a wonder he isn't as dead as Loptr. But it's very sad, and I'm not saying I told you so. I would never say that. I do hear that people are saying this is all my Thor's fault, which is quite offensive. Perhaps if my Thor had been raised under my guidance he could have learned to focus a bit more. I do think perhaps he takes after other family members who shall remain nameless, if he's running around falling into bed with just about anyone he trips over instead of being sensible. It's really not his fault, because he didn't have the gentle discipline I would have given him. 

"And it's funny no one told me he was supposed to be betrothed to Loptr. That is very funny. But of course it's not my business who my own child marries or anything. Still, if this so-called frost giant prostitute is now carrying his baby you would think someone would have the grace to introduce us. But I haven't received that invitation yet. Curious. All I've received so far is a very abrupt summoning to war. Funny. Very funny. 

"But putting that aside, which I will, because I'm not here to be argumentative, as indeed I never am, I can't possibly go to war right now because there are several harvests I have to be responsible for. If they don't come in on time the Midgardians are sure to starve or take ill or murder each other or pump poison into the planet. Funny how I'm the one who's spent centuries running about keeping Midgard from total apocalypse but that's evidently not proof enough I can raise my own child. But good luck with the war and all that, and give Thor my love, and please make sure he hasn't picked up any nasty diseases which perhaps he did, perhaps he could be dying right now as we speak and none of you would tell me. Why would you tell me? I'm only his mother!"

Silence followed this. The leaf-being disintegrated and blew away. Odin put a hand to his brow and massaged it, but every other person in the throne room craned their necks to get a better look at Thor, some clearly wishing to assess Thor for signs of budding disease. Thor began to wish his cloak would swallow him up. He already spent most days agonizing over Blueskin and hating himself for leaving, but now he began to hate how, specifically, he had left Blueskin for _this_. For a realm that could whisper about what Thor had had with the giant as though it were simply a very amusing bit of scandal.

Hela began shrieking with laughter.

This was not an auspicious start to the war council. Even less auspicious was Thor's private audience with his father. Thor steeled himself for a repeat of their discussion on Jotunheim, with even more blame, perhaps, but Odin never played to script.

"We will need an heir to lead Jotunheim once we have put Laufey in his place," he said, when Thor was ushered into his private chambers. "You must get us one."

"This is what we're talking about? My breeding duty?" Thor said, aghast. "Tossing me at some hapless giant to take over where Loptr left off?"

"Pick your jaw up off the floor, boy," Odin said, rolling his one eye. "I'm done with the giants. No longer will Asgard interweave her magic and power with creatures so base they didn't appreciate it the first time. No, you will instead produce an heir who can serve as our regent, one of our own people. The giants who have harmed your brother shall never again be led by one of their own. As they have not been willing to be our partners, they shall instead be a subjugated race."

"The entire race did not harm Loptr," Thor protested, caught off guard. "And they are _already_ subjugated, father. The way Laufey treats his people—"

"I will not shed tears for the bastard you fancied you might make your own, nor his slattern mother," Odin said coldly. "And you would do best to stop thinking of them both as well. Once, you were deeply opposed to so much as breaking bread with a giant. Now, you will have the good luck to avoid giants completely. There are three maidens who might suit our purposes instead, not simply as your breeding partners but as your new future betrothed. None of them a giant."

"Three maidens?" Thor echoed, feeling dread pit in his stomach. He did not want three maidens. He did not want one maiden. He wanted Blueskin. Odin knew that.

Odin's eye gleamed.

"Eir has long believed the Lady Sif might be a good match for you. Your mother has of course put forward her own opinions, as she always does, and has indicated that you would be well-suited to the Valkyrie commander. Brunnhilde is a passable choice despite her eccentricities. And I believe Hela may also suit."

" _Hela_?" Thor cried out now. "No, father! For Norns' sake. I am glad to have a choice among the three, but for you to think I would ever choose Hela —"

Odin began to chuckle.

"You don't get a choice," he said, harsh about it. "Who said I was giving you a choice? What have you done to earn that? No, boy. You'll wed who I pick. I just haven't made up my own mind yet about who that is to be."

-

In less than a week, the raiding parties on Jotunheim began. Thor, being in disgrace, was not given the honor of joining the first bands, but was still expected to watch them depart and to give his blessings upon them. This meant long days at the Bifrost, watching Skurge pat Thor's various half-siblings and a procession of Valkyries on the back and say, with good humor, "Now I'm not saying you go and murder every last blue bastard you find, but, you know. Just do your best to massacre them for that sad dead little Loptr, will you?"

That Thor found this deplorable and more than once threatened to silence the new gatekeeper with his hammer didn't seem to have an impact. Nearly everyone else appeared to share or at least enjoy Skurge's views. Hela said, silkily, "I think he's showing a nice patriotic side to his character, Thor. Don't be a bore."

It took a few weeks to find someone willing to share his reticence for full-scale giant massacre. Brunnhilde, who had been sequestered with his father and the rest of the inner war circle, came striding up to the Bifrost to see off a party of Valkyries. When Skurge tried his customary greeting she laid him flat, opened the Bifrost herself, kissed a departing Valkyrie full on the mouth, and then sent the Valkyries off.

Then she swaggered down with a little wave at the shocked crowd of onlookers and well-wishers. She stopped before the thrones that had been arrayed just to the left, where Thor sat with Frey and Hodur and some of the other royalty, and gave Thor what could only be described as the stink-eye.

"Just for the record, your majesty?" she said. "I would rather be run through by a frost giant than wed you. So if I fall in this war, please know I selected an eternity of playing tavern maid in Valhalla rather than share your bed."

Thor had never before been let down so brazenly. Actually, he'd never before been let down. 

"I hope you do not fall in battle," he said, awkwardly, trying to collect his pride before the crowd, "because with all due respect to my sister, better you than Hela."

Now there came general noises of consensus from the assembled Asgardians. Brunnhilde put a hand on her hip and said, "I know, but if you marry Hela it's not my problem, so."

She turned to go, but found her way barred. The Allmother stood silhouetted in the doorway to the observatory. She was surrounded by brisk and businesslike handmaidens who began to disperse the crowd and even the other princes. Soon enough she had cleared the observatory of all but herself and her maidens and Thor. And Brunnhilde, who rather than be shuffled out just gave the stink-eye to the handmaidens, presumably because she could.

"Thor," Frigga said, coming to him. 

Thor had not spoken to her since arriving back on Asgard. He felt his fair share of shame over this. Frigga had been a great help on his journey, and he'd heard from Heimdall that the queen had done her best to keep his confidences from Odin, and had already dismissed the handmaiden who had let the secret of Thor's companion slip. Thor should have gone at once to thank her, but had been so mired in self-hatred and shame over leaving Blueskin that he instead spent most of his spare time working out his shame in the training rings, letting Tyr and Frey and other warriors run him ragged. So he hadn't seen Frigga except for when they were both attending Odin's councils, and while there he hadn't found the motivation to do more than eye her tiredly across the war table while both he and she did their best to keep the most bloodthirsty among them from holding sway.

"You mishandled this," Frigga told him now, very grave.

"I know," Thor admitted. He'd caused war when it could have been avoided, and had landed Frigga and Heimdall in trouble, and for what? He had not only lost sight of whatever had happened to Loptr, he had lost, too, his Blueskin. In the lowest and most cowardly way possible, by outright abandoning the little giant. 

But Frigga addressed none of this.

"You didn't tell me your companion was pregnant until you were halfway up the tallest mountain on Jotunheim!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Thor, that poor little creature! I could have sent spells to ease the journey for him, but you didn't tell me until it was far too late. It's not like you to be so cavalier with others, Thor. That's how I knew something was wrong."

Thor decided not to argue against her flattering but largely-incorrect assessment of him, and just said, "So why didn't you tell father?"

Frigga tipped up her chin, obstinate.

"Heimdall had faith in you," she said.

Now several figures appeared at the door to the observatory, trying to shoulder past the handmaidens. Sif and the Warriors Three. Thor stood at once, for they had left for Jotunheim this morning, when Skurge was sleeping off a tavern binge, and he had not had time to meet with them and hear news of Blueskin until now.

They looked gingerly at Brunnhilde and the queen before saying anything.

"It's alright," Thor said. "I trust them both."

Frigga was plainly concerned over Blueskin, and Brunnhilde would likely be in favor of any being who might stand between her and a marriage to Thor.

Fandral was the one who spoke.

"Your pretty little giant is a touch cold, Thor."

Brunnhilde sat on the steps to the watchman's post and said, "Cold I get, but little? It's a giant, isn't it?"

"Six feet," Volstagg told her. "Little is relative."

"What did he say?" Thor demanded, wanting to be past the pleasantries and explanations, wanting only to know how Blueskin _was_. "Is he well? What does he need?"

"Has he had the babe yet?" asked Frigga.

"He doesn't want to volunteer himself for breeding, does he?" Brunnhilde put in.

Thor's friends shared an anxious look.

"He's had the babe, and looks well enough after," Fandral said, and Thor felt the coiled-tight dread that had filled him ever since he'd left Jotunheim ease, somewhat. "As for what he wants or needs, well..."

Hogun stepped forward.

"This is what we have, given to us by the old giantess who was with him," he said, and pressed a tattered piece of paper into Thor's hands. Thor took it. It wasn't a letter, which disappointed him. It was the map, the one Blueskin had never let him see. It was well-drawn and intricate, showing the winding trail they'd taken from Utgard, as well as all the towns they'd passed. Thor examined every notation, every warning, trying to understand. What was this meant to tell him?

Then he saw it.

Frostberg. Its well, its healer's house. Its shrine to Ymir. This last little dot circled in red, with the annotation, _for our Loki to avoid._

"Wait," Thor said, as several things at once fell into place. "What?"


	20. Chapter 20

It was not so far to where Heimdall was, particularly since Frigga offered her carriage for the trip. Because Heimdall's powers were fearsome even to Odin, he'd been spared the normal punishment cells for his neglect of duty. Instead, he'd been banished to a magical cabin Odin had built expressly to contain him, a black windowless dome on a platform high above the waterfalls that cascaded over the edge of Asgard, in the coldest corner of the realm. There, he was to sit in quiet penance, unable to see anything at all thanks to the dome's many blinding spells, until Odin should call for him again.

Thor and the others, even Frigga, climbed the rope ladder to the dome. Inside they found Heimdall whistling and pouring himself some tea. Although the dome was dreary, its pall of magic oppressive to Thor, Heimdall did not seem to mind it at all. He'd been stripped of his armor and helm and now wore a dun, serviceable tunic and leggings, but his golden eyes were sharp.

"My prince," he said. "And all the rest of you. To what do I owe the pleasure? And are you sure some of you can't leave?"

The central room of the dome was so small that they crowded in shoulder to shoulder. It was also lined with strange many-colored rocks of varying textures, some bright as jewels, others very dull indeed. Heimdall seemed quite comfortable on them, but they were unpleasant for the others to try and sit on. So, after several attempts, most of them stood.

"They're here because they're my friends and have received this from Blueskin," Thor said then, holding up the map. "The queen is here because she's rushed us to you quickly enough that we hope my father might not notice. Brunnhilde is here because..."

He didn't actually know.

"Because you shouted, 'I won't be forced marry you or Sif or Hela' and demanded to see Heimdall, and I'm curious," said Brunnhilde, shrugging. "As well as feeling like you could have been kinder about that."

"You don't want to marry me anyway," Thor protested.

"I meant to Sif."

"Heimdall, Thor thinks you might have had a theory about the signet ring," Sif put in now, a little desperately, for Thor had filled her in on the ring on the way over.

Heimdall nodded. Brunnhilde mouthed _the signet ring?_ at the others and then, receiving no response, mouthed, _fine. Don't tell me then._

"I did not assume Blueskin had stolen the ring," Heimdall said. Then he looked at Thor expectantly. 

Thor now began to pace in the very small space afforded to him. His friends crowded against the walls to help him do so, for they were good friends. The queen kneeled primly, despite the rock-strewn floor, and began passing out tea. Brunnhilde sat as well, the better to spike her tea with something from a flask up her sleeve.

"Let us not start with the ring," Thor said, as he paced. "Let us start with the princes. Helblindi and Byleistr. They hated Loptr. They hated Blueskin. And Svadilfari, the nine-foot runt with horseshoe markings. He was said to have become romantically involved with Loptr. He became romantically involved with Blueskin."

Now he was getting into the swing of things. He began to toss his hammer and catch it, though everyone else seemed less enthused by this action than he was.

"Loptr wanted to go up the Snowpeak. Blueskin got me to take him up the Snowpeak. Loptr was a temple novice. Blueskin was a temple novice. Loptr was said to be about six feet tall. Blueskin is around that height, small for a giant indeed. Loptr was said to have the signet ring. Blueskin had the signet ring. Loptr was a talented mage. Blueskin was a talented mage. Loptr was called Loki, and this—"

Thor held up the map triumphantly, his voice rising.

"—this suggests that so too was Blueskin! It's all been clear as day and I didn't see it! Loptr _is_ —"

Brunnhilde raised her hand, rather ruining the moment. But that was fine. Thor could salvage it.

"You want to know why I didn't know it was him!" Thor cried. "Because it never occurred to me that Loptr might not look the way he ought to, might lack markings or might have such vivid color. It never even occurred to me that he might have fallen pregnant. To do so out of wedlock is a high crime on Jotunheim, punishable by public execution, so I never thought—"

"Right. No," said Brunnhilde. "It's more that it just hit me right now that you spent months calling your frost giant lover _Blueskin_ , and like. You didn't think that was weird? Not even a little weird?"

The others all nodded at this. Thor stopped tossing his hammer and stared at them.

"He'd call him _my_ Blueskin," Sif said now. "To his _face._ "

"Ick," said Brunnhilde. 

"I think it's a perfectly lovely little pet name," said Frigga graciously. "Even if most people leave that sort of thing in the bedroom."

"Forget the name!" Thor cried. "It's him! My betrothed is my beloved! This war, this senseless war—we can end it! I can marry him!"

It hit him then, such a shock of joy he didn't understand how he would ever be able to contain it. He could marry Blueskin, his giant, his fascinating, marvelous brat of a giant. Thor could have him.

But now the others began to dissent.

"There could be more than one temple novice, even more than one six-foot one," Brunnhilde said, rolling her eyes.

"Loki is a common name all across the realms," said Hogun.

"Blueskin could have taken the map from Loptr when he took the signet ring," Volstagg said, sighing.

"Laufey's sons may well hate a lot of people," said Sif.

"And this Svadilfari, perhaps he romanced two pretty giants," Fandral said, with a shrug. "I would if I got the chance."

Each assertion punctured Thor's joy in turn, until he tasted ash and turned to Heimdall, tone pleading.

"You knew. You must have known. You told me to look in the rucksack, Heimdall."

"I thought you would find the ring quickly and then use the rest of your journey to look for some proof of Blueskin's true identity," Heimdall said, shaking his head. "Better yet, perhaps you might have gotten Blueskin to tell us that he is Loptr. While your friends make good points, my prince, the most damning evidence against our theory is your little giant himself. If he is Loptr, he has decided to keep it from you. From everyone."

Thor swallowed hard. His joy was now little more than anxiety. What could be Blueskin's reason? And if Thor's beloved giant should deny the truth, where would Thor be then? 

"Well, I'll just have to get him to own up, then," Thor said, blinking around at the others. "Or prove that he's lying."

-

He wrote:

_My heart is heavy, my Blueskin. My father has declared that I am to wed an Aesir, now that Loptr is dead. He considers my dear friend Sif, the Valkyrie Brunnhilde, and my sister the Queen of Hel to be the only possible options, and I fear greatly that he will select my sister. If I am wed to Hela, it will be a lifetime of battles and misery. This would suit her well, but me not at all._

_I wonder if this how Loptr felt, when told he would have to marry me._

He received no reply.

-

He wrote:

_I sit in constant councils of war, in which I plead for us to stop attacking your people. You know I disagree with how Laufey rules, my Blueskin, but it is not Laufey who suffers our might. It is countless giants like you, who have spent their lives simply trying to survive Laufey's edicts. I have not yet been sent on campaign to Jotunheim, but it is only a matter of time._

_I wonder if this was what being promised to me felt like to Loptr. A duty he wished he could avoid._

He received no reply.

\- 

He wrote:

_We plan to take the Snowpeak, my Blueskin, for it is the highest point on Jotunheim and will give us a valuable vantage point over Utgard. I am tired of trying to tell you things in code, so I will be plain: I worry over you. I think of you constantly. I try to understand what it is you might be thinking. I do not want you harmed when the time comes for Asgard to conquer the Ironwood._

_My father has chosen Hela. I would rather marry you._

No reply.

-

He thought there could be no fixing this. He thought it was his most complete, total failure. He spent nights unable to sleep, his worry over Blueskin growing and growing. Not simply a fear for the little giant. Increasingly now a fear that the little giant did not tell the truth because he did not want Thor.

Thor knew he was handsome, and charming, and he'd thought that the little giant had enjoyed his company. So in the light of day, thinking back on their journey, it was easy to convince himself that Blueskin did care for him. That whatever had happened in Utgard, Blueskin must have forgiven him for it. But at night it grew difficult, for some reason, to believe even that. At night all he could think was that it had been months now, properly months since he had seen Blueskin, and still Blueskin did not write. And Thor had raped him, hadn't he? It had been the princes, not Blueskin, that had said so, and yet it had the ring of truth. They'd tricked Thor into using their brother, hurting him. 

Why would Blueskin want a man that had harmed him like this? 

Then one of their bands of Valkyries took a temple not far from Utgard, freeing the prisoners kept within. And then Thor _did_ receive a letter, though not from his little giant. From Jarnsaxa of the Cloth, Asgard's own spy.

It was weeks until he and Frigga succeeded in transferring her to Asgard's healing halls. Thor was waiting as she was brought in, no fewer than eight Einherjar struggling to transfer her massive bulk to a bed under Eir's watch. Though the great giantess was scarred and battered, not to mention grimacing at her own arms, for it seemed someone had bleached her form to keep her from overheating in Asgard's climate, her gaze was clear.

"You know," she said, the instant she saw Thor's face. "Oh, you imbecile. If you know, why is all this happening? Why isn't he with you?"

Thor swallowed hard. He did not know why. He wished he knew. 

"I need proof it is him," he said, as she was settled into the bed. He waited until Eir and the Einherjar had gone to help others wounded in the fighting, and then pulled a chair close to where the giantess lay. "Can you provide testimony? You were his nurse, weren't you?"

Thor had spent weeks learning what he could about Loptr. Blueskin. No. _Loki_. It was not right to call him by the name Thor wanted. Thor ought to call him what the little giant himself wanted. Thor owed him that. And Loki was the name that seemed most correct, the name his brother-betrothed had used in countless formal letters to Asgard, a minor informal rebellion scrawled at the bottom of the page, ringed by a little snake each time. 

"We have to get him to Asgard," he told Jarnsaxa now. "Get him home."

"He thinks that forest is his home, if I know him."

"We're going to invade that forest," said Thor. "That's no home for him. Also, it's horrible there."

Jarnsaxa sighed.

"He will be safe," she said, against all logic and reason. "His mother died working a spell to protect him from mortal harm. I had not thought it took until I saw him again, all those months ago with his legs burnt. You could have hurt our Loki far worse then than you did."

Though Thor felt mingled relief and shame at this, he wasn't sure whether to believe it. And in any case, it didn't matter.

"Come with me and help me convince father of who he is, who he truly is," Thor demanded again. "Please. Then we can protect Loki, and he and I can be married—"

Or not married, if Loki did not wish that, but then at least Loki would be here. Safe. 

Jarnsaxa gave a heavy exhale.

"Asgard has never been kind to him and he knows it," the giantess said. "If I do what you ask me to he will see it as a great betrayal, and that will harm him deeply. That child has spent a lifetime neglected by your father and abused by Laufey, raised to see himself as little more than tool to reflect _your_ power."

Thor swallowed again. He'd known that. He'd gathered that, after all those months on Jotunheim. He just had not thought to apply the cruel reality to Blueskin, to Loki, to a living person.

"That bastard, Svadilfari, he told us why they wanted our Loki dead right when he came of his majority," Jarnsaxa said. "A letter came from your royal father, explaining that our Loki was to be finally brought to Asgard, named your betrothed and made official king of Jotunheim. And the child wasn't told. Not by Odin, not by Laufey. It was to be a surprise, a test of his obedience to your father's wishes. Can you imagine that? Being taken from his home, thrown into a marriage with you, new responsibilities thrust on him, all with no warning? That is how Odin and Asgard have treated him."

Thor could imagine it. It was very like Odin. And the worst thing was that Thor himself could have made this easier for Loki.

"I should have been better to him. Visited. I could have—"

"Shut up," said Jarnsaxa of the Cloth, not unkindly. "Taking on the blame shall not help him now. But if you force him to reveal himself you will only prove what he already thinks. That he exists at your whim. He has to be allowed to choose for himself. Now, listen to me. There is one thing, one tell the child has that will make things clear even to Odin. Our Loki went through a period where he was begging for Odin's attention. Wrote him letter after letter, agonizing over each word.

"All the ones he sent went unanswered, of course. But not, I think, unopened."

-

Thor wrote a single line:

_Enclosed you find a missive from the nurse you first met all those months ago, who I asked to treat your legs, and who has has asked after you._

Loki sent back pages and pages of words, pouring them out to Jarnsaxa of the Cloth. She did not let Thor see what he had written. She only gave him the last page, the page with Loki's love and his name.

When Thor met his father in Odin's chambers that day, he could have said, "This is your fault." He could have said, "I'm tired of your games, and even more tired of fucking people on command for you." He could have said, "Really, father? Hela? Really?"

But he only said, "I will marry my little giant, father."

He slid Odin the letter with the little snake, Loki's trademark, and smiled to see the Allfather stunned into silence for once. 

-

But it was naive to assume that Odin would call off the war. 

After Thor showed him the letter, with that signature Odin recognized so well, instead his father called a private council. It was composed of Odin, Thor, Frigga, Heimdall, and Jarnsaxa, who was made to hobble to the Allfather's private study, where she was laid on several couches and managed to look generally unbothered by all the accusations of neglect of duty Odin flung at her.

"Aye, I did not tell you it was him," she said. "I would not betray the child's confidences. Jail me for it if you like. I've got used to jails."

Heimdall, too, was unaffected by the Allfather's anger.

"She would not betray Loptr's confidences," he said. "I would not betray Thor's."

Odin looked even more thunderous at this than he had at Jarnsaxa, but Frigga cut in before he could rage again.

"There has been a general neglect of duty," she said, crossing her arms and glaring around at them all, save Thor, who was grateful to escape her condemning eye. "Now it falls to _all_ of us to remedy it. Loptr — or rather, Loki, as that is what he seems to prefer — is alone on Jotunheim with a babe to care for—"

"I will go to him," Thor said immediately. "Help him, get him to see how I love him, how I would still love him no matter what his name is—"

Then perhaps his brother-beloved would tell the truth. Perhaps what Loki needed was to not be afraid, for perhaps it was fear that held him back. Fear, fear at Asgard, or at what Thor would think of him. 

Odin, however, now began to laugh.

"Your romance is not why we are here," he said, dismissive. "You seek not your brother, but a reward for your tomfoolery. You'll not have it. Nor will he. You will go wherever I send you, not where you will it, and as for him, he will come to Asgard at once."

Jarnsaxa struggled up despite her wounds. "If you force the truth out of him with cruelty, try only to bend him to your will as you always have, you will never gain one jot of love from that child! Nor will you deserve it!"

Odin looked at her silkily.

"Who said anything about the truth? I care not what the boy calls himself. I care to have him safe in Asgard. We will have need of him, once we've won back his throne for him."

"So the war is to go on?" Heimdall put in. "There is not another way—"

"Think!" Odin snapped. "There is no choice but war. Laufey and his sons have wanted war from the moment they plotted to kill Loptr, and, finding they could not, resolved to sell him as one might sell any common trollop. They made a mockery of the union I had planned for Thor—"

"It was a mockery the moment you planned it," said Thor, unable to help himself. Odin had neglected Loki, planned their union in the shadows, garlanded them both with strange, unnecessary tests and secrets. _Unnecessary_ being the operative word. There was no reason for Loki to suffer as he had, except that Odin had willed it so.

But now the old man rose from his chair, impressive less for his height than for the sheer power of his bearing and gaze.

"You think this all my failure," he snapped. "My coldness to blame, my inattention—"

"I'm glad you're saying it. That way I don't have to," said Thor, refusing to be cowed.

Odin scowled at him.

"I am not simply father to Thor, and to tragic little Loki," he said. "I am father of all. You think you are the first children of mine I have ever watched suffer? Ever seen tested, ever seen fail? I do not make my plans for your happiness, boy—"

"Yes, little chance of that!" Thor said.

But Odin slapped a hand on his desk hard enough to make Thor wince, the way he used to when Thor was a boy and vexing Odin particularly with cries for his mother. 

"I must plan for all the realms," Odin said, short about it. "I do not rear sons. I rear kings. My responsibility is not to anything so small as a family. It is the workings of fate itself that concern me."

Silence followed this proclamation, even from Thor. He wanted to rail more against his father's callous declarations, but now he could see that Jarnsaxa looked unsurprised, and Heimdall impassive. Only Frigga seemed inclined to break the silence, Frigga off by the balcony, drumming her nails against the heavy curtains.

"Jarnsaxa is right that we should not pressure him," she said, like this argument between Thor and Odin was worth no attention at all. "He's been through so much. And he's so young—"

Odin grunted.

"Old enough to fool his brother."

"If you were the one fooling Thor, you'd be proud of yourself," Frigga said, easy about this.

"If I were the one fooling Thor, it would be because it was necessary!" Odin said, harsh enough to challenge his wife's clear-eyed calm.

"It did not seem to me that anything other than necessity motivated Prince Loptr," Heimdall said now. "I had my suspicions about him even before he and Thor embarked on their journey, and I find him secretive, mischievous, demanding, and perhaps even a born liar. But what he has done, he has done because he needed to."

"They forced him into a brothel," Jarnsaxa said, corroborating this. "The child was selling himself, fifty coin a turn."

Though the giantess was plainly anguished by this little bit of information, and Frigga too, Odin waved it all off.

"That he has suffered is clear," the Allfather said, without a glimmer of emotion, "and if you, Frigga, wish to take him in hand and make the truth come to light in your own way, then I will not stop you. You have a year to do so. No longer. And in the meantime, if he wishes to remain a nameless whore, then that is precisely what we shall invite him for."

Thor stared at him, uncomprehending. Odin seemed sunk deep in thought, and while Thor had been raised to trust in his father's wisdom, Jotunheim had rather robbed him of any confidence that Odin would handle this as it should be handled.

"Father, what do you—"

Again, Odin cut off all talk with a hand. 

"I meant to marry you with a minimum amount of fuss," he muttered. "Simply to give the order, call up the child, and have it done. But if your _Blueskin_ wishes to make this difficult, then difficult it shall be. We shall not force out his secret, no. We shall treat him like the commoner he's decided to be."


	21. Chapter 21

Shortly after Thor's friends' first visit, Angrboda shifted in the night, gave a gasp, and then was silent again. It was one of the rare nights when Sleipnir was crying and Loki forced to try and soothe him. Loki, feeling numb, put the screaming child back in his cradle and crept to the bed.

Angrboda was dead. Loki wrapped Sleipnir up in a sling and took his knife and a great rusty shovel he had found in the nettle garden out to the front.

He didn't want to put her where the hog sty was, so he decided to break the ground by the far side of the bridge, where the berry brambles fought their way out of the snow. He cleared those with some difficulty, for it was hard going with Sleipnir's large, solid body wriggling and complaining against his chest. But soon enough it was done, and after more work (and resting Sleipnir on the edge of the clearing to watch, with some illusions to entertain him) the hole was dug. Then the lifeless body was dragged out, then the dirt piled back on and a marker made with common forest rocks charmed to look like fine jewels. These things occurred as though they were happening to someone else. Afterwards he fed Sleipnir, and the child slept, and then Loki slept too, not in the bed Angrboda had died in but curled up on the floor by the cradle.

He woke enraged. 

It was bitter, formless anger, and in the weeks that followed it did not go away. Not even Sleipnir falling back into his customary good behavior could dim it. This was good, for Loki needed to be angry. If he let his mind linger on losing Angrboda, after losing nurse, after losing _Thor_ , he felt as though his heart might squeeze itself to dust. Better, then, to be angry. The anger colored his magic, so that when he walked through the forest he attracted the snakes, which followed him to the clearing and coiled about horribly. His spells became crueler, the illusions of so many dying temple-condemned giants taking up residence around his home, in order to drive away anyone who might attempt to visit.

No. Not anyone. Thor's friends, specifically, bearing Thor's letters. Loki was not kind to them. He let the snakes bite and hiss at them, and called great insects to the clearing to unsettle them. More than once he tricked the fat one into tumbling into the frozen lake, prompting rescue missions that left all the others sodden and miserable.

"Thor surely doesn't love him for his character," he heard the woman say to the others, on one of these occasions. "I'm not sure how anyone could."

 _That is so,_ Loki decided, heart pounding with that enraged energy he did not want to lose. 

Thor loved him. How nice for Thor. Thor loved him and had still gone away, to go be the heir to all Asgard, and had left Loki to be a witch of the Ironwood. 

Well, why not? Loki had tricked Thor into getting him free of Utgard, and in the process caused a horrible war. That Thor did not kill him, but instead wrote letter after letter pledging his affection — that was Thor's own weakness.

 _I am not so weak,_ Loki decided, the night it really hit him that Thor was not simply writing pledge affection, but also to prepare Loki for a future without him. Thor was to wed another. But Loki would not be ruined by this. He would be angry. He started a fire in the firepit, letting the horrible warmth lick at his wrists, and tossed Thor's goldenhair ring in. 

He regretted it immediately. He stuck his hand in, shrieking at the pain, to try and amend his error, but by then the ring had burnt up. When Thor's next letter came, Thor's friends stared at his mangled hand and Loki did not bother to explain.

"We could bring you a healing stone," offered the slim and dapper one.

Loki stared at him. He could heal it himself, but he felt such fury over the ring, over everything, that he could scarcely think.

"Is the child well?" tried the fat one, when Loki did not answer.

"This is the child," Loki said, and pointed to a little blue many-legged beetle crawling about in his hair. 

Thor's friends looked horrified. But it was true — Sleipnir had fallen afoul of one of Loki's enchantments a week earlier, or rather wriggled afoul, and Loki's dirt-scrawled runes had inadvertently transformed him into a small pony. Sleipnir had not seemed to mind. On the contrary, when Loki turned him back, for the first time in Sleipnir's short life genuinely frightened and worried about him, Sleipnir had babbled delightedly. Loki had had to bathe him in the pool, for he'd tried to run about in the former hog sty and become very dirty, and Sleipnir had turned the water to ice on instinct. This was the child's first sign of magic since he'd stolen Loki's own. 

After that Loki turned him into all manner of things, teaching himself how to manipulate forms better and also exposing Sleipnir to more and more magic in order to force more from the child. Sleipnir was so young he cared little for his form. He derived great giggling joy from becoming horse, hoglet, baby bat, beetle, spider, and snake. 

Loki didn't expect anyone outside the universe of Loki-and-Sleipnir to understand this. Now he plucked the Sleipnir-beetle from his hair and turned the child back before their eyes, just so they could see he was not lying. He watched their eyebrows climb. This time they gave him his letter very hurriedly, and then the three men immediately turned to the Bifrost. 

The woman did not. She eyed Loki for a moment.

"Where's your giantess?" she asked.

"Angrboda? Dead."

The woman blinked, likely at Loki's emotionless tone.

"I cannot shake the sense you did do away with Prince Loptr," she said. "Vanished him, made him disappear into the very air, the prince gone the very minute you declared him gone."

Loki let himself smile.

"I'm delighted my power seems so strong. You're right. I _did_ vanish Prince Loptr."

But she didn't seem put off by this. For some reason, she looked like something was funny to her.

"Right. Just making sure," she said. "Thor says you will like this week's letter, by the way."

He took the letter to the cottage and let it sit there while he gathered poison nettles. This was pointless time-wasting, though, and he knew it. Since he'd burned up Thor's ring he had collected everything else Thor had left behind, all those saddlebags, the little ceramic bird in the garden that had once been real, and the spare boots and ceremonial red cloak, and piled these things together with his knife under a floorboard, like hidden treasure. So how could he put off reading the latest letter? It would go with all other letters in the treasure pile eventually. All that pile a sign of his weakness, a sign of how it hurt, not having Thor. 

He might smother that pain with rage, but the pain was still there. So he opened the letter with shaking hands, like he always did. But all this writing — it wasn't from Thor.

Nurse was alive. The Aesir had found and rescued her, and she lived. Lived and begged his forgiveness for trusting Svad, something that was Loki's fault, not hers. Lived and begged him to write her, to tell her how he was, for she had _always_ loved and worried over him. Loki had spent nearly three months now since Sleipnir was born believing that no one loved him, save his dead Anrgboda and maybe save Thor, whose love was purposeless, nothing compared to the call of Asgard. But Nurse loved him, and always had. And she wished to know about Sleipnir and Angrboda, about Loki's recovery from the birth and the restoration of Loki's magic. About why Thor, Odinson and heir to all the nine realms, was writing Loki love letters while waging a war because his nation believed Loki dead.

Nurse had taught him all about politics, all about the conquering of the realms, the bloodshed and pain required to make a stable empire. Now she wrote with great opprobrium:

_I hope this is not the naughtiest thing you have ever done, our Loki. But then I think about your royal father's rage and coldness, and I become glad that he does not know what really happened to you. For if he is tearing apart Jotunheim now, I cannot think how much crueler he would be if he knew the true extent of your suffering._

That was just what Loki thought, but in a different way. 

_I cannot tell Thor the truth, nor tell anyone. Please do not ask me to. You are right: Odin does not want a ruined whore for his heir, for his son. And I do not want to be Loptr, or Blueskin either, anymore. I want to be Loki alone in the wood with my child._

If she could meet Sleipnir, Loki was certain she would love him as he sometimes seemed unable to. Nurse was not poisoned by the line of Odin. No wars had she ever started, and no cruel lies did she spread. 

-

He invited Nurse to come to the cottage whenever she was well, and anxiously awaited a reply.

But the reply was not a letter. The reply was Thor. Loki at first thought it was just the four friends again, when he heard the powerful rush of the Bifrost on the other side of the bridge. So he kept on scratching his runes in the half-frozen dirt, Sleipnir coiling happily about his feet, a cheerful reptilian nuisance today. 

But the characteristic shouts, the great hollering for Blueskin, didn't come. So after too many moments of silence Loki turned to look across the bridge. There he was, the great prince of Asgard. Hair shining such a gold it defied the purple-grey light, chain and mail so finely wrought Loki could almost forgive the armor for hiding the powerful silk of Thor's thighs and arms. 

Loki's first thought was to heal his hand, which he did quickly, for Thor was regal and handsome and Loki so mangled he couldn't bear Thor seeing him like this.

But his second thought was, _how stupid. He's seen me in a worse state._

And his third was the panicked sense that maybe Thor need not see him at all. Since Loki's magic had begun to guard the cottage, no one could detect his little space here. He could escape notice for some time yet, quiet and hidden, and Thor might grow tired of waiting and go away.

But Thor was all patient attentiveness, carefully watching the place he knew the cottage to be. Thor wouldn't grow tired of waiting. Thor's persistence was unparalleled. He'd argued with countless Jotnar innkeepers on Loki's behalf, fought with the dilapidated cottage to make it livable again, pushed Loki and that dratted nameless horse up the Snowpeak. He wouldn't leave simply because Loki wanted to hide, and in any case the idea to hide was like the idea not to read Thor's letters. Foolish pretending. Loki fingered himself every night, crying for Thor. Loki couldn’t hide from him any more than he could stop wanting him.

 _And he's come,_ he thought. _This isn't like it was before he knew me, when I waited and waited and waited in Utgard. He's come now. He does want me. I must believe that he wants me._

He scooped up Sleipnir and wound the child about his neck, Sleipnir's little forked tongue kissing at his collarbones. When he crossed the bridge and Thor could see him, he kept his chin up, his shoulders proud. Much larger snakes than Sleipnir coiled about Thor's feet, but Thor seemed unaffected by this. He leaned forward, gaze fixed on Loki, drinking Loki in.

"Blueskin," he said. "You look..."

"Well?" Loki guessed, tone snappish. He did not look well. His clothing was ragged, his nails caked in dirt, his hair limp about his face. He'd long stopped worrying about his looks, for Thor had been gone for months and so no one of consequence was around to see him.

"Terrible," said Thor. "But I'm glad to see you."

Loki swallowed hard. 

"How is the babe?" Thor asked gently.

"This is the babe," Loki said, gesturing at the little green snake around his neck. Had Thor's friends really not told him?

"May I hold him?" Thor asked at once.

"He's a _snake_."

"I love snakes," Thor said. "Does seem a bit smaller than I'd thought he'd be, and I wonder how he managed to kick so often with no legs, when he was growing inside you. But I am pleased you have birthed such a handsome one, at least."

At Loki's perplexed look he added, quickly, "Not that any snake you birth would be anything but attractive, my Blueskin."

He had his hands out. Loki took Sleipnir and dropped the child into them. He watched Thor attempt to cuddle the creature, letting Sleipnir wind about his chest and crawl up to his shoulders. 

"Ah, he's spry," Thor said approvingly, like a total lunatic. "An athlete, as I said he would be! I am Thor, little one." 

Then, to Loki, though he was otherwise fully occupied with petting the bright green scales, "May I come in?"

Loki wished someone else was about, to take the decision off his hands. Letting Thor back in after Thor had left him, after Thor had made clear they were not to be together, felt like giving in to the ultimate weakness. But it was inevitable. Loki did not want to leave him _out_.

He turned for the bridge, sketching some runes on his palm with a nail, runes that would drop the cloaking spell for Thor. Then he also dropped the magic on Sleipnir, just to hear Thor give a curse as snake transformed into heavy, wriggling baby. 

"Bestla's tits!"

"Always tits with you," Loki said, disapproving. "You'll not speak of tits around my baby."

"I could have dropped him!" Thor said, more worried than condemning.

"You wouldn't have."

Thor wouldn't have. He was _Thor_. Sleipnir was better off with him than with Loki himself. When Thor had followed Loki across the bridge and into the cottage, he placed Sleipnir carefully in the cradle he'd carved for him. 

"You're a solid one now," Thor said approvingly, crouching by the child and running a hand over the little black fuzz of hair on the blue scalp. Sleipnir giggled. Thor said, contrary to all evidence, "Clever thing. Still handsome, too."

"He looks like me, so no," said Loki.

"As I said. Handsome. And big for his age. Did you not say big was attractive?"

Loki's heart seemed to be beating too fast. He set about tugging forward two chairs, arranging them near the banked firepit. The table that went with the chairs, the table Thor had built had been in shards on the day Loki had given birth. Loki was still not certain why. As for Sleipnir, Loki was grateful the child did not resemble Svadilfari, at least. He would grow as big as him, but he more or less looked like Loki, like Loki's mother. 

"Will your blue be as stunning as your mama's some day?" Thor was asking him now, wriggling fingers before Sleipnir's face and making the child laugh again. "You already have his hair, his eyes—"

Sleipnir hiccuped a rash of snowflakes that erupted over Thor's fingers, delighting Thor.

"—his magic! Lucky little thing."

Loki stood behind one of the chairs, and gestured at the other. Thor prompted such a mingled rush of want and anger and upset and delight that it was like several hours' worth of emotion had passed in the last few minutes, and it took Loki a moment to ask the question he should have asked to begin with.

"Why are you here?" he said. "I thought I was not to see you any more. I thought I was a whore and thief and your royal father did not like me for you."

Thor straightened up, frowning. He tucked a strand of gold behind one ear. Though it seemed he might answer Loki about the royal father, whatever he was planning to say there he swallowed. Instead he said:

"Did you read my letters? The ones about Asgard taking the Ironwood?"

Loki snorted. He had, and he'd wished Asgard would _try_. It would give him something to do, having Aesir soldiers about for him to torment. He could call down the fiercest of the dinosaurs on them, send such a chill into the air he might freeze them alive. When he was bored, he spent quite a lot of time scratching out the mechanics of such spells. 

Thor now looked away, uneasy for a moment. Perhaps it was all the brutal spells scribbled in charcoal on the walls that made him uneasy, come to think of it.

But he didn't speak of the spells.

"I have to order you to leave the forest," he said, without preamble. "Asgard intends to claim it."

"Order me?" Loki said, laughing despite his anger, his disappointment, his sheer affront. "Order away! See if I listen! No, you've not had the right to order me since I was a frightened whore on my knees before you—"

"And I raped you," Thor said, voice heavy. Loki stopped laughing. Thor's expression was dark and shamed, something unruly behind his eyes.

"Your illusion confirmed it, and one of the princes did," Thor said. "That last day we saw each other. I have been unable to face the thought, have cast it from my mind when I could, but it's true, isn't it? You did not want it when we met. 'Sorry' is a pitiful thing to offer for that, and yet I am sorry, Blueskin."

Loki could only bite out his response.

"Sorry, and yet you're trying to order me away from my home."

He didn't care about the rape, if it had even been a rape. He'd locked that away in his mind along with his grief over Angrboda, his self-hatred over how little he seemed able to give Sleipnir, his days in the brothel, all memory of Svadilfari. These days he obsessed about far greater insults. Thor being so kind to him, Thor making him want, and Thor leaving. Thor returning, and for an instant things seeming bright and new again, only for Thor to try and take his home. Loki clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

"Get out," he told Thor.

Thor did no such thing, but only came forward and helped himself to a chair, leaning on his elbows towards Loki.

"There is a solution," he said. "Blueskin, you are alone. War is coming. Asgard needs you gone from here. And I need a breeding partner, someone to give me children, to help me continue my line—"

Oh. Oh, _this_ was the worst thing he could say. This was an insult far greater than anything like taking Loki when he'd stupidly thought Loki might have been willing.

"Are you asking me to be your _live-in whore_?" Loki snapped, enraged.

Thor flushed.

Of course he was. Of course. It probably even seemed a sensible idea to him. Odin did not want Thor wedding a creature so low as Blueskin, but they didn't have to wed. Loki's cunt had been for sale before, so why not now? 

"Odin agrees you may see me so long as I am kept in my place," Loki guessed. "Why? Does the great Hela not want your cock? Your royal sister thinks you've dirtied yourself bedding someone so low as me, is that it?"

Thor looked away, at the dank fire pit. His breath came out in puffs in the cold.

"I have spoken to my father about my reluctance to bed Hela, or any other save you. We have come to an agreement, him and I. You are to have a comfortable home in Asgard, money for the child. This little one here will be treated as any prince, my Blueskin. He will have an education. You need not stay in a war-torn realm in such poverty as this, in a one-room cottage in this foul wood. You only need agree to offer—"

"A working womb," Loki said bitterly. "To have my belly swell, again and again, let you fuck me full as much as Asgard requires."

Thor's tone was careful and even.

"You will be well rewarded."

Loki breathed in. He had been often angry these past few weeks, yes, but never felt so glittering a rage as this. 

"Get out," he said again. And when Thor did not move, he strode to the loose floorboard and pried it up. There were the letters, the cloak, the boots, the saddlebags full of coin and furs and warm woolen socks. He threw them all at Thor in a rage. The ceramic bird hit the far wall and shattered. When his fingers closed on the knife he brought it up on instinct, but now Thor had risen and, cursing, crossed to him.

"Stop! You will hurt yourself! Or else the child!"

The noise did make Sleipnir cry, but Loki was too far gone to care. He struggled against Thor, but Thor overpowered him easily, holding his arms to his sides and shaking him a bit to get him to stop.

"Will you give me my thousand gold, or do you and Odin expect a discount rate?" Loki hissed, struggling in his grasp.

"Do you want a thousand gold?" Thor demanded.

"I was willing to be with you for _free_ ," Loki said, trying to get the words out through the lump in his throat. "How stupid I was! I should have demanded to be your concubine, your little fuck-pet! Existing solely for your pleasure!"

Little better than what had been offered to Loptr. Only now Loki supposed he would not even have the title of prince or Odinson, not that he wanted either. He managed to bring a knee up and pry Thor off a bit, but Thor's hands still pinned his hands. Sleipnir was wailing now.

"Get out," he said again, tears in his eyes. "Get out, get out, get _out_ —"

"I'm sorry," Thor said, breathing out hard again. "I'm sorry, love. But it's your choice. I leave and Asgard invades the Ironwood, seeking, among other things, to force you out. We never speak again. I never tell anyone there's anything between us, and we are as nothing to each other."

Loki felt weak and fragile at the thought of this. This would be the ideal resolution, the one that hewed to his principles, and yet the thought made his breath stutter. It inspired greater hurt than he could process. 

"Or," Thor said slowly now, "you tell me what you need, what you want, to keep us together while Asgard wages this war. To keep you safe in Asgard and my father appeased. You make the choice."

"What kind of choice is that?" Loki forced out.

It was no choice. It was Thor or his lifelong dream to be free of Thor, and how horrible it was to now realize that he prized Thor far more than he prized the dream. He hated Thor. He was furious with Thor. But he had missed him so, so badly, turned himself numb and then furious just to keep from feeling the pain of that missing. Now all his plans to push Thor away crumbled before him. He began to cry silently, embarrassingly, unable to stop.

Thor blinked, long and slow. 

"Do I go, or do I kiss you, my Blueskin?"

Loki swallowed hard. When Thor leaned in, Loki let him.

"May I?" Thor said.

He nodded. Thor kissed him, just a press of lips, and Loki felt the heat of those lips sink down into him, a burn he craved with every part of his being. He wished he had not come to crave this, but he had. What was done was done. 

He was going to Asgard.


	22. Chapter 22

He kissed Thor for so long that stopping seemed to reset the the entire hour. Though a part of Loki still felt raw and brittle, now he could breathe a bit.

Thor pulled him close and let him exhale into one broad shoulder. Against the backdrop of Sleipnir's babbling, Thor said, “The little one asks to be held. We have frightened him."

“His name is Sleipnir.”

Thor nodded. He carefully pried away the knife that was still in Loki’s hands, setting it on the far chair, then went to lift Sleipnir out of the cradle again. He rocked the child until Sleipnir’s overexcited babble became sleepy coos. 

Loki leaned against the wall in the meantime, head in his hands. 

Something occurred to him. 

“I confessed to killing Loptr. Is this a trick to get me back to Asgard and punish me?”

“You didn’t kill Loptr,” Thor said, firm about it. “You told me you drowned him and Sif you vanished him, so unless you murdered him twice, you're not his killer. And I would not play such a trick on you, a trick that might do you real harm.”

Loki believed that. 

“I want access to Asgard’s magic if I’m to go live as your in-house breeder,” he said, desperate to wring something from this that wasn’t just his heart’s full-scale submission to Thor. “I want magical training. For me and Sleipnir, when he's a little older—“

“Done,” Thor said. “I know just who can teach you.”

“I want to stop after a few,” Loki continued, still desperate. “I don’t want to be like a — a bitch in a mill or something, bred and bred and bred until she dies—“

“My father only needs one,” Thor said, looking stricken by the comparison. “An heir to Jötunheim.”

Oh, what a poor baby that would be. Loki knew where that led, what awaited that little thing, and for a few long moments he hated himself for even contemplating giving any child to Odin and to Asgard. 

But he was selfish. And looking at Thor wrung all sense from him, made him understand how desperate and unhappy and alone he’d been, these past few months. Loki made a miserable forest witch. A miserable parent, too, solitary and apathetic, thinking little of Sleipnir’s future or of how this war might impact them. 

“You must never treat me like a whore, even if I am one,” he told Thor now, with difficulty. “I could not bear that. You must not call me low names, or try to hurt me as you take me—“

“I wouldn’t,” Thor said immediately. He’d stopped rocking Sleipnir. The child was now fully asleep in his arms. 

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Thor said. “I have never wished that.”

Loki nodded. He tangled his hands in his ragged cloak and thought, tried to understand what came next.

"When do I have to go?" he asked. "Is there time yet, to pack my things—"

Not that he had many, for half his possessions were now broken and strewn about the room.

"—to clean and prepare myself, feed Sleipnir, leave the cottage in some order?"

Thor placed the sleeping child in his cradle, careful as he set him down. Only then did he answer.

"We start sending parties into this wood on the morrow. You should leave tomorrow morning at the latest. I will make it known that no one is to try to access your cottage."

Loki snorted. As if they could. His spell would hold, of that he was certain. No, it was only that he wanted more time to prepare himself. Thor was taking him to glorious, terrible Asgard. Would he meet Odin? Likely not, for though Loki was signing up to be little more than the plaything Odin had always wanted him to be, Loki was now a creature far, far beneath the great Allfather's notice.

_Small miracles_ , he thought.

"I would bathe first, and change into better rags than this," he told Thor. His hands and clothes were caked in dirt, after hours spent outside.

Thor nodded. 

Loki crossed to the pool and began to peel off his cloak and tunic. He let the garments drop carelessly, without preamble, but internally he worried. He was no longer the gravid thing Thor had seemed to like so much. He was all skin and bones now. His markings had come back, but his color was still too bright. And while his cunt was no longer so sore as it had been for weeks after the birth, nor was he bleeding from it as he'd seemed to over that period, his sensitive cock-tip now protruded rudely from its sheath by an extra inch or so. It was as though by pushing Sleipnir out he'd left the rest of himself stuck now in perverse disorder. 

And his breasts had grown. He hadn't expected that, that they had more growing in them. They were plump and very large now, and he often had to stop and express milk just to get the soreness to go down, for even nursing Sleipnir didn't keep him from feeling too full all the time. Now he could feel Thor's gaze on him, on the distended, puffy nipples. Loki didn't offer them up. He wanted to. His cunt twitched at the thought, ever the most tactless part of him. But he controlled himself, climbing over the ledge instead and submerging himself to his collarbone in the blissfully cold water. 

He heard Thor moving about beside him. When he turned, Thor was at the edge of the pool, removing a band he had twined around his wrist.

"Your hair," he said simply. "Unless you want it wet?"

Loki shook his head, not entirely sure what was happening. He'd stopped really understanding what was happening several minutes ago, maybe, when he'd first heard Thor's proposal. Now he was in a resigned, pathetic sort of fog, his heart clinging hard to Thor because without Thor, what was there? Poverty, as Thor said. Apathy tinged by anger. And worse than that, such a gaping trench of loneliness that most days Loki couldn't think straight. He wanted to hate Thor for teaching him that he did not have to be lonely. He thought he could have been able to bear the loneliness better, if he'd never met Thor. But now it was too late for that.

_He's shown me love_ , Loki thought, closing his eyes for a moment. _That is part of why I've been so angry. He loved me and I became pitifully addicted to it, and now I love him back._

Thor now stripped off his thick gloves. He gathered up Loki's hair for him, tying it. Then he reached for the strip of cloth Loki kept to one side, to scrub himself with.

"Your hands will freeze," Loki blurted out. "The water is too cold."

Thor tested this, dipping a finger in and wincing. So cold it was painful, then. Thor still didn't hesitate in wiping at Loki gently with the cloth, his fingers pinpricks of heat. When he rubbed across Loki's sore nipples, Loki gave an involuntary gasp at the sensation.

But for once there seemed nothing sexual in it. Thor simply coaxed him into standing up and helped him wash, and if his touch made Loki shudder, made perhaps excess damp appear between Loki's thighs, Thor didn't comment. By the time they were done Thor's teeth were chattering and he'd stopped giving off so much heat, fingers clearly half-frozen when he ran them across Loki's brow to tuck back an errant strand of hair.

"You can stop," Loki told him. "There's no need to torment yourself."

Thor only made a face, as if the words called up some unpleasant memory. He brought his frozen hands to his mouth, trying to blow on them to ease the cold. He otherwise gave no indication that it hurt, and only said, a bit awkwardly, "How old is Sleipnir, then? How many weeks?"

"Why?" Loki asked. "Why keep asking about him? Fussing over him?"

"I left you both," Thor said, sounding strained. "I have been sick with myself for it. It was wrong —"

"Your royal father commanded it, didn't he? And I told you I was Loptr's murderer."

"It was still _wrong_."

Loki nodded, climbing out of the tub now. He took the fine blue cloak Thor offered him to towel himself with. He would not argue, never mind what he thought about it. But he couldn't understand why they were having this out now, nor why Thor kept circling back to Sleipnir, as though he couldn't get enough information about him. They would have time together now, wouldn't they? Loki was to go be with him in Asgard. Thor would have days, weeks, months to ask about the child, and to try and resolve every bitter moment between them, to boot. 

_It will be unbearable,_ Loki decided. But then, for even he could not delude himself fully, he thought: _Still, it has been more unbearable yet to be without him._

"You can start a fire," he told Thor now, "for your hands. But move Sleipnir's cradle away or the heat will bother him."

Thor nodded and did this while Loki dried himself. Then Loki heard the clink of armor. When he turned, Thor had stripped off some of his fine mail. 

He was looking at Loki like he was afraid Loki might disappear. 

“May I have you?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Tonight? Here?"

"You'll have me every night, won't you? Once I'm breeder or concubine, or whatever you call it when a prince keeps a whore," Loki said. 

But he dropped the cloak, letting it pool about his legs. He wanted it too.

"You mean more to me than that," Thor said now, a bit urgently, coming forward to cup Loki's breasts. He moved Loki back gently, so that Loki's rear rested on the edge of the bed, and brought a powerful leg between Loki's legs. As he worked Loki's sore, aching chest, Loki's cock flowered out, leaving slick trails of pre-come on Thor's fine blue trousers.

"Everything you've given me has been a gift," Thor said, as he tugged milk from Loki's chest and lapped it up, the hot wetness of his tongue making Loki breathe hard. "Your form. Your wit. Your bratty cleverness. Your trust, in having me take you up the Snowpeak. I have seen it as a gift of the highest order, do you understand? Even if you had charged me by the minute, I still would feel such gratitude at knowing you that it would be a gift, beloved."

One of his hands found Loki's cock and stroked it, making Loki keen. Loki wound his arms around Thor's shoulders and rutted against him, into his warmth. His breasts felt so much better. His cock was all drooling pleasure, and his cunt was wet and leaking. He wanted Thor there especially, wanted Thor inside him. It made him low and loose and he was those things, but Thor did not seem to mind it. Thor who could say such good things to him, Thor who he'd missed so hard it had bruised him, Thor who was _kind_.

_What if I told him?_ Loki thought wildly, for a moment. _Told him who I was, and—_

But no. That wasn't sense speaking. That was cock, cunt, sheer arrogant desire. Telling Thor at this point would not help anything. It might make everything worse, might underscore how deceitful Loki was.

What if Thor hated him for his lies? 

Loki hugged Thor closer, despairing at the thought, and kept rubbing onto his leg. Thor pushed him carefully onto the bed. He reached down and kissed Loki again, his beard scraping Loki's cheek.

"I want you in me," Loki said, when the tender bliss of the kiss was through. 

In his cunt, very badly. This had to be evident to Thor, who was sliding his fingers along Loki's messy thighs and bringing the slick to his lips as though it were honeysuckle. The sight was entrancing, and Loki's breaths stuttered out of him. When Thor undid the catch of his trousers, pushed aside the shining silk of his underthings, his prick sprang free. Loki's mouth watered despite himself. He brought himself up on one elbow and reached for it. 

But he couldn't make himself guide it to his cunt. He wanted to, yes. But now that guilt came over him again, at the thought that this was how they would give Odin his Loptr-replacement. 

He was buying a life with Thor. By sacrificing another's life. He shuddered, still wanting Thor so badly, but hating himself now. He guided Thor to his rear hole instead. Thor stopped him. 

“You don’t have to,” Thor said, his face troubled. “I know you do not want it—“

“I want it,” Loki said. 

He wanted Thor. And if this was how, for now, for tonight, so that he could put off the greatest selfishness of his life, then so be it. He was no longer afraid, anyway. Thor did not want to hurt him. 

"It needs preparing," Thor said. "Or I will hurt you."

"Prepare it, then," Loki said, brazen about it. "I liked when you played with me there last time."

Now he was guiding not Thor's cock but his golden head. Thor's hands lifted up his rear. Thor's tongue worked that little ring. It felt just as odd and good now as it had before. He wriggled in Thor's hands but Thor held him firm, tracing the sensitive muscle. When Loki was mewling, he withdrew, reaching into a pocket of his fine tunic with one hand.

He had a little stoppered vial. Loki stared at it, dumbstruck. Thor seemed sheepish.

"I didn't assume we might. When I came here. But it never goes amiss." 

"You don't need to slick up my cunt," Loki pointed out. "It does that on its own when you're about."

Thor's skin went all pink for a moment. 

"One thought I had, if you were too angry and unhappy with me, if it seemed you did not want to come back to Asgard, was to ask if you might not want to take _me_."

Oh. Oh, Ymir. Loki had never even considered such a thing. It seemed to crack open the very world and reveal a new, stranger universe inside, a universe where Thor, lovely and filthy Aesir that he was, might actually get on his hands and knees for _Loki_.

"I'm sorry I gave in so fast, then," Loki said, after a few moments spent wondering at what it might be like to do as Thor suggested.

"When we are both on Asgard, you may try it," Thor said, almost shy. "It isn't simply for if you are angry. I want you to."

"Oh," Loki said, still unable to comprehend this. How like Thor to talk of gifts, and then spring one on him so carelessly, like his own gifts were nothing at all. Thor passed one hand over Loki's thighs, tracing the markings there, and said, "For tonight I'd still like to do you. Show you the pleasure I promised before. Are you certain it is alright?"

Loki nodded. 

They settled themselves on the bed properly, Loki against the lumpy pillows Thor had bought for him so long ago in Frostberg, Thor between his legs. Thor didn't slick up his cock first, though it was hard and leaking, but instead his fingers. He pushed up Loki's thighs and pressed one finger to the rim of Loki's hole, rubbing there, getting it slippery. Then the finger was inside, an insistent, not-unpleasant intrusion that stretched Loki's walls and made him gasp. 

He knew what came next. One finger became two, two became three. Thor was a workhorse when it came to preparation, and Loki was grateful for that. Every addition meant a little more discomfort for Thor to ease away, to make Loki used to it, coax Loki into taking more. When Loki clenched on instinct, Thor murmured soothing things and worked him open, his free hand wrapped around Loki's cock. The pleasure there, and the burn in Loki's rear, soon had Loki moaning again. He felt so overwhelmed, he scarcely noticed when Thor's fingers retreated and Thor began slicking up his cock.

He did feel it when the head pressed against his pucker. Thor was still whispering gentle nonsense to him, _easy love, easy, do not tense, I will not hurt you,_ and so he willed away his panic. When the hot head breached him it felt impossibly thick, and he brought a fist to his mouth to try and keep himself from crying out, for he did not want to wake Sleipnir. It was too much sensation, this burning stretch. It made his poor neglected cunt twitch with want. He felt split open, but the pain was not what he'd feared, for it came with a relentless push, a full penetration, that made Loki's eyes nearly roll back in his head.

"You're doing so well," Thor told him, breathing hard. His calloused hands ran over the skin of Loki's stomach, found Loki's cock again. "So well, love. That's it."

It was harder and harder not to moan. Thor didn't sheath himself all the way, and indeed Loki wasn't sure how he could, without killing him with sensation. Instead he pushed in just enough to make Loki mewl and then scraped out, his strokes powerful. Loki's rear throbbed a bit despite the preparation, but then Thor went a bit deeper, a bit more angled. It hit him just _right_ , solid heat colliding with Loki in just the right way. Now Loki did cry out, never mind the child. Poor baby, who deserved to sleep. His selfish mama couldn't help the noises he made. Thor was going deeper and deeper by increments, and always hitting that ragged, delightful spot inside him. 

He came with cock, and made a mess of his stomach, but this only spurred Thor on. Loki slipped enough fingers into his cunt to ease the need there, as Thor fucked him steadily. Still Thor was murmuring praise at him, too, killing him with praise, with _how beautiful, my Blueskin, my love_ , all that lovely nonsense over and over. When Loki's cunt clenched and came, Thor came too, inside him. 

It was hot, but not painful. It wiped out Loki's mind for a moment. When he came back to himself Thor was holding him. Loki was not alone. Loki was with him. He was able to close his eyes then, and sleep without fear or rage dogging the edges of his thoughts. 

-

By some miracle they did not wake Sleipnir, and all three of them slept until the violet-grey dawn.

Then Loki had to feed and change the child, and wash himself again. Thor helped gather up his things, from the knife on the chair to the comb Loki had tossed at his head. He condensed it all into one saddlebag, for truly Loki did not own much, and wound the strap over Loki's shoulder. The babe went in his customary sling, gurgling away cheerfully. Thor looked at Loki for a moment, as though he were drinking him in, and then hefted up his hammer and went out to call the Bifrost.

Loki stared at his little cottage. It was a dream that had gone awry, badly awry, and he felt strangely shameful about that. He'd had such gilded hopes, back in Utgard. He felt as though he'd failed not only those hopes, but Angrboda.

_I do miss her,_ he realized. _I do grieve. And I'm sorry I could not do justice to what she wanted for me._

Sorry too that she had ever became tangled up in the lost prince, the suffering Loptr-turned-whore. Angrboda had known him at once for what he was, and in the end it had done her no good. And perhaps that was the real source of his reluctance to come out with the truth. Loptr had never done anyone any good. It was only as Blueskin, Blueskin-with- _Thor_ , that Loki had ever felt as though he might be any good at all.

He pressed a kiss to Sleipnir's fuzzy head now. They were going to Asgard, to Thor. He could have that again, that goodness. Maybe it made him weak, but suddenly he was glad to be weak, and he hoped that this meant he could be better for Sleipnir.

"Time to go, little one," he said, and then stepped out into the yard. The heat of the Bifrost made Sleipnir wriggle and cry, and Loki held him close as he crossed the black bridge. On the other side Thor stood, looking solemn, before the great pillar of colored light. He put his hands to Loki's face and drew him in, kissing him deep, before suddenly, inexplicably, shoving Loki into the Bifrost.

The journey was too fast to scream at the heat. Too fast to react. One moment Loki was in his forest clearing, and the next he was shrieking and stumbling out in a great circular bronze room. It was hot here too, so hot he was sweating in seconds, and the light was a painful gold. He stumbled to his knees, only just keeping his crying child from hitting the shining floor. 

"Careful, boy," said a voice.

Then someone was helping him up. Where their hands touched him, the heat eased, and Loki could have cried for relief. But then they passed a hand over Sleipnir as well, and he saw why. Sleipnir's skin rippled and changed, shifting to a pale peach, markings fading, red eyes blinking into blue. He took the transformation better than Loki did, for Loki couldn't help but give a mangled cry at it. When he stared at his own hands, these too had gone pale and unmarked, all of him now completely Aesir-seeming.

He whirled about and faced the one that had done this to him. A man, quite nondescript, who held a great sword as though this were a very normal thing to do. 

"Who are you?" Loki demanded. "I didn't say you could do that!"

"You needed it done," was the man's disapproving reply.

"I shall tell Thor! Who are you?" 

"You may call me Ginnarr," said the man. "I have been expecting you."

"Where's Thor?" Loki demanded.

Thor had not appeared yet. And he could not see how Thor would appear. The room opened onto a bridge of color that led to a great, shining city, which must be Asgard. But there was no open Bifrost to Jotunheim anymore. There was nothing but Asgard and sea and this odd Ginnarr. 

"What do you mean, where's Thor?" said Ginnarr, sounding irritable. 

"I'm to be his..." Loki struggled for a word that would not make him flush with shame. "...his bedwarmer. For Asgard needs an heir, a giant heir."

A poor little thing, used to prop up Asgard's power. 

Ginnarr nodded, a very controlled, canny sort of gesture somehow.

"That we do," he said. "But I cannot think how warming Thor figures into it. For you will be on Asgard now, won't you? And he is on Jotunheim."

Loki stamped his foot, for it seemed to him this Ginnarr was being deliberately slow.

"Open your Bifrost, then!" he commanded. "He needs to come back!"

"He needs no such thing," said Ginnarr, stroking his eyepatch. "Thor was told not a week ago that for his failure to protect Prince Loptr, he would spend the duration of the war posted on Jotunheim, fighting with the others.

"He brought you here to protect you and train you in magic, boy. If you can even be trained. If not, you will prove no use at all. Now come along. We have the perfect tutor for you."


	23. Chapter 23

And so Thor was back in the Ironwood.

Here they set up their central garrison. Here atop the Snowpeak, the Aesir commanders had a vantage point of the valley to the North, the smaller mountain ranges to the South, and the Snowpeak itself sloping down to Utgard on the Western shore of Jotunheim's great continent. Frostberg was easily taken, its giants pressed into Aesir martial law. From there on out the upper mountain cleared itself, stragglers and travelers rushing down to Utgard, now refugees intent on avoiding Asgard. To take the peak back the giants would have to fight uphill, venturing into wilder and wilder parts of their realm. The Southern mountains were similarly overcome, sending whole towns and villages fleeing into the valleys or streaming into Utgard, even across the blood-soaked battlefields and ruins that now surrounded the city, to try and get on boats to the freezing archipelago in the far West.

With the realm in such a state, it was easy to see how the Aesir might win. The Aesir expected to win. They had certainly never before lost.

But Laufey was unsurprised by their every move.

It was clear now that Jotunheim's king had been planning for this war long before it began, long before he'd ever sought to hurt Odin's heir, perhaps. Laufey had collected all of Jotunheim's magic users, pressed them into service in his temples, and his monks, nuns, and priests proved formidable opponents. Though the Aesir had long believed Jotnar magic to be backwards and rudimentary, now they were proven wrong. The Jotunn clergy cloaked themselves in spells that let them freeze Aesir skin at a single touch, that shielded them from the view of Asgard's watchmen. And from the bowels of the citadel they produced a bizarre and frightening weapon, a casket shrouded in the oldest winter magic the realm had. 

Though Thor wanted to reach the citadel more than anything, wanted to feel the satisfying clang of impact when his hammer collided with Laufey's skull, there was no overcoming that casket. It cloaked the whole of central Utgard in a blizzard so powerful that no Asgardian could manage to get through, a blizzard as cold and terrible as the snows of the Western archipelago. Only the slums of the lower city were warm enough to take without the Aesir freezing to death, and that was a close thing. On his first day posted to the Snowpeak, Thor flew down to help a band of Valkyries secure the area and found he had to wrap himself in so many layers of fur and Allmother-devised warming spells that he was too clumsy to be of any real use, little but a brute hammer knocking against every rebel giant he saw. 

And even those giants could slip easily behind Laufey's wall of ice. The Casket's living blizzard invited a siege, something the Aesir were normally quite good at. The trouble with this was that Laufey's citadel opened onto the great Jotunheim ocean. This forced the Aesir to try and hold the line around the frost, and also attack the king's supply lines coming in over the water. In the meantime, every temple on the main continent formed a smaller stronghold, each with its own warrior monks and its own blizzard shield. Thus the Aesir weren't fighting and besieging on one front, but on far, far too many.

Thor was sent from the central garrison to no less than ten separate corners of the continent in the first five days he was back on Jotunheim. He had fought wars before, subduing bands of his father's enemies across the nine realms, but those had been minor rebellions, and this was a total revolution. In addition to those loyal to Laufey, the Aesir had to fight other groups of dissenting giants. Many seemed to hate Asgard as much as they disdained their own king, and to resent the Asgardian yoke on principle.

Thor met one such giantess on his second visit to the slums of Utgard. The moment he saw her, he was grateful it was he that had discovered her, and not Hela, or any of Tyr's people. The giantess was young and unarmed, and had two boys gathered to her breast. Behind them, in the shelter of a ruined building, huddled more giantesses yet. When Thor approached, the giantess shoved her children behind her and blocked the doorway.

"Is it not enough that you take our prince?" she demanded. "Now you come for all Jotunheim?"

Thor stopped, knee-deep in snow. The whistling of the freezing winds filled the space between them. In the early days of the siege, these wrecked streets had been a blur of magic, blood, and chaos, but now most of the giants were dead or had retreated, and the Aesir had little to do but patrol and attempt to wear away at Laufey's magical storm. Not even Thor's own thunderstorms could seem to melt that, though he supposed, with some chagrin now, that seeing him call down heat and lightning must have frightened these ragged survivors. Made them think the worst of him.

"We fight _for_ the prince," he said now, slowly. "It was your king who hurt Loptr, my good woman. When we learned he had perished at Laufey's whim, we had no choice but to seek retribution."

This was the story known to all but Thor and Odin's Loptr-council, the story they would stick with until Loki should reveal himself, or Odin should lose patience or find a more magnificent lie to justify his rage over Laufey's rebellion. Yet the giantess purpled with fury, like she did not believe Thor.

"Do you think I do not know you for what you are?" she said, drawing herself up to her full, considerable height. She prodded at one of the children behind her, hissing something, and then strode out into the snow. In the pale violet light, she was a vision in her dingy rags, her long bare legs whorled with splendid markings.

"You were the one who killed him!" she cried. "You! One day he was with us, the next sent to please your appetites, and the next — gone! He might not have said who he was, but do you think we were blind? Do you think it wasn't clear how Loki was cast aside, until _you_ should deign to — to appear with your final punishment for him?"

Now the little urchin she had spoken to came running out behind her, holding a great leatherbound book. She took it from him with scarcely a look and flung it at Thor. It was a giant-sized book, so this was rather like having to dodge a boulder. Thor did dodge, but then gave a growl and hefted his hammer. Though he had no intentions to hurt her or the child, he could not ignore an attack. But the giantess stood tall, snow whirling around her.

"It's there, in that log!" she spat. "That is what you wished, isn't it? To find the proof of how you bought him and destroy it?"

Thor stared at her, hammer still raised, frozen. It took a moment for him to make sense of her words. When he did, he dropped the hammer and began to try and flip through the heavy vellum pages of the book.

It was a log, a record of sale. While most of the names were unknown to him, Loki's was not. Fifty gold each time, as Jarnsaxa had said. Thor's skin crawled and in his mind he felt the numbing drip-drip of absolute rage. He scarcely noticed that one of his own storms, heavy and hot, was rolling in to try and compete futilely with the blizzard caused by Laufey’s casket. The giantess now finally succumbed to fear, gathering up her child with a cry and running back into the ruined brothel. 

For that was what this was. Loki’s old brothel. No wonder the ragged young giantess could see through the lie. As far as she knew, Loki had lived. Lived and suffered, to punish him for his pregnancy, until he’d been taken away by no less than Thor himself. 

The hot rain and cold snow whirled down, making a mess of the log’s pages. Thor made a guttural sound he scarcely processed and grabbed both the book and his hammer. As he strode into what was left of the brothel, more giantesses shrieked and scattered, pulling themselves into the dark recesses of the building. 

Thor stood in the gloom and read over each transaction in Loki’s column, every cool note of the acts requested and the total take Loki had earned. It was a clinical little list. There was little care for how these things must have pained Loki, how brutal the treatment must have been. Though the buyers likely used aliases, Thor still read each false name with hate clenching about his heart. Some had made special requests to reserve Loki for after the child was born, for the note-taker apparently intended to raise his price then. This was clear from the scrawled annotations to the side of the page. 

_If he survives there’s no reason not to sell his cunt or arse then!_

And, near the final two entries, which lacked a clear record of the actual buyer,

_What a gift for Prince Thor but if he’s killed I’m owed 50000 at least for the use I could have gotten out him. Intend to write and say so._

And tacked to the bottom of that page, a looseleaf sheet with some additional notes:

_Stamina decent. Manner deplorable. Cried when I said I would have him pierced after the birth._

_Spoiled little brat thinks he's too good to swallow. Fixed that by coaxing in a pack of Western mercenaries who came into a tankard and made him drink the whole thing. Sobbing by the end, which is the look I want him to have. Have to keep his pride under control, that's the trick._

_Next time he back-talks I'll sell him out to Reyjorn, see how he likes a john who'll piss straight into his mouth._

Thor hardly felt it when his hands began tearing the book to shreds. It was as if another was doing it, as if another was feeling this river of hatred and horror. He knew distantly that the crackling heat behind his eyes, about his arms — that this was real electric fury he could not keep down. But he felt too sick to process the destruction he now turned to, taking apart the room when he was done taking apart the book, then tearing into an already-mangled hallway and seeing giantesses fleeing before him. 

The one who had confronted him was huddled at the end of the hall, arms about her children. 

“Who wrote it?” Thor roared. “Who?"

She looked at him with barely-concealed revulsion. 

“You did business with Nal the same as any other pervert,” she said. “Do you think he stuck around to have you kill him for what he knows? He fled to his brother, aye, and left even his own bastards behind.”

She pressed a kiss to the head of each child, belying her harsh words. But she did not break eye contact. That she thought Thor would kill her was clear. That she intended to look death in the face was clearer. Thor stared at her ragged, dirty form and came back to himself, his rage now tinted with shame. 

“You have not tried to seek succor with Laufey,” he said. 

She snorted. 

“Laufey’s people would not have me. They want whores killed, they don’t care if the Aesir do it for them. You should know that.”

“I didn’t kill Loki,” Thor said. His heart was still pounding with hate, his flesh still prickling with disgust and rage, but he knew it would be wrong to harm this woman, these children. Loki's real tormenters were safe behind the casket's winter storm. Thor slid to the dirty stone floor, frustrated and furious.

Behind him there was a shout. Hogun, it sounded like.

"These women must be taken to safety," Thor heard himself order, distantly. "They are not to be harmed."

The giantess' eyes widened. How horrible that Thor could not be satisfied by her surprise, by how strangely grateful she looked to find him merciful rather than monstrous. He could not derive pleasure even from that. There _were_ monsters afoot, and they had hurt someone he loved. And Thor could do nothing about it, not yet. Thor could not even be with Loki. Odin had forbidden it for now. 

_You're not allowed to be here while your chosen is tested,_ he'd said, dismissive. _Contravene me, and indeed, it won't matter that he's your chosen. I can always pick another chosen for you. And in any case, you have a war you started that you might as well finish, boy._

Behind him, he heard more of his band arriving. He turned and found Hogun relaying his orders. One of the giantesses threw a platter of some sort from the doorway she was hiding in, making the Aesir jump.

"Don't harm them," Thor repeated.

Then he turned to the giantess before him.

"I swear to you I didn't kill him," he said. He placed his hammer between them, letting it go to show an attempt at peace. She would very likely be unable to lift it, but it was the gesture that counted, he hoped.

"Tell me what he went through, and at whose command," Thor said. "Tell me so that I may know what wrongs I must avenge."

-

They took settlement after settlement, and yet still could not breach Utgard. Despite this, they continued to follow Odin's orders, high strategy sent down from Asgard. This carried the day in the lesser valleys and over the distant mountain ranges. Even Thor had to admit that his father had a preternatural understanding of takeover, one which seemed to defy common sense or mere logic, which passed into the outright godly.

Despite _this_ , weeks turned into months, and each month was more brutal than the last. Fandral was badly frostbitten in a battle on Slorheim Mountain. Thor and Volstagg had to warm him with hasty furs while he raved with delirium, until the Bifrost should come to spirit him to healers. Then Frostberg rebelled, and it was Thor who was forced to subdue it, forced to clap Hilgenar the healer and other good giants in manacles. 

After that, they disrupted one of the Utgard supply lines, taking down a network of boats going to and from the citadel. On one, they found a fourteen-foot giant who matched the description Thor had been given by Sigyn, the giantess he'd found at the brothel. Thor didn't waste breath talking to him, but instead seized one of the other Utgard escapees cowering in the hold, an eight-foot runt in velvet who cried out when Thor clasped him by the throat.

"That one," he said, pointing at the giant he suspected, the one that did indeed share a profile with Laufey, as Sigyn had said. "With the fine hands, clothes dripping with gold. If you wish to be spared you will give me his name."

"That is Nal," gasped out the other giant. "The king's brother. He is the captain of this vessel, not me!"

Thor frowned. If he was the captain, then he would have to be questioned. This was an ugly process, a process Nal more than deserved, spearheaded by Thor's sister, Hela. But Thor wanted to be the one to hurt Nal. Yet when he stalked up to the deck, amid the shouts and screams of a battle winding down, she only laughed at him.

"What are you going to do? Call down one of your little thunderbolts?" Hela said. She stood overseeing the rustling of the prisoners, or possibly just examining her nails, as three many-masted supply vessels burned and sank just behind her. "It wouldn't do to have the future Allfather dirty himself even with that, would it?"

Her tone was mocking. Though Thor was the heir, Hela ruled supreme in times of war and knew it.

"On the other hand," she said silkily, "all these pathetic blue beasts do cower before you, particularly scared of _you_ for some reason. They whisper that Loptr killed himself rather than be with you. If that's true it is sad, isn't it? Blue giant runts being your type."

"I want Nal after you're done with him," Thor forced out, ignoring her barbs.

"I can't wait to see what _you_ do with him," Hela said, smiling like a wolf. 

He didn't call down a thunderbolt. He didn't need to. Scorching rain was enough, pounding on the deck, on Nal's bare skin, making Laufey's hideous brother beg for mercy. 

Thor might have shown him some, if he hadn't made it clear that he, unlike the common and confused rebels they'd met in the slums and valleys, knew precisely why Asgard was waging war.

"It was Laufey wanted the boy hurt!" he screamed. "I swear I treated him like my own!"

"I've met your sons," Thor said. "Even your own you mistreat."

He felt little remorse when his hammer hit Nal's skull, ending it.


	24. Chapter 24

The months dragged on. 

War was an unruly, dull business, the thrill Thor might have normally felt in battle swiftly superceded by the wrongness of so much relentless conquering. The giants of Frostberg, sequestered in their prison of a town, soon agreed to work for the Aesir. But Thor was still uneasy about them, feeling as though he'd betrayed them each time he returned to the garrison they'd helped the Aesir make atop the Snowpeak. He was uneasy, too, about the Ironwood. He'd never found the forest pleasant, yet with a shock he realized that he missed its misty grey boughs now that they'd been cut and fashioned into fortress walls. He disliked the muck his own people trampled through the half-frozen springs. He worried over how he might tell Loki, someday, that the wild onions were gone, and the dinosaurs and quails and snakes, too.

He was a prince, and owed it to his people to bed with them in the muggy, unpleasant bunks the Aesir set up, within great heated orbs not so pleasant as Frigga's but much longer-lasting. But when he could spare an hour or so, he would slip away to the cottage. The cottage seemed to have Loki sunken into the grooves of its gnarled wooden floorboards. Thor could go there and imagine, for a moment, that all was well and Loki was only in the back garden. Cooing over poison nettles or something, because he was a menace. 

But the reverie was tinged with more wistfulness than irritation. It wasn't simply the memory of the life Thor had lost with Blueskin. It was also the life Thor might have had with _Loki _, with his brother and rightful spouse. The life they might have had, had Thor ever taken a moment to visit him, to know him, was lodged in Thor's mind like a splinter. There would have been no war in that case, no separation. No pain for Loki, no degradation such as he'd faced in the brothel.__

__No lies, too. Now and then Thor felt impossibly angry at the lies. But more often he felt angry with himself. Each night his mind would wander to what Loki had looked like, spread out on the cottage's bed, his hand between his legs, the pretty mounds of his breasts and belly rising as he worked himself. As Thor teasingly, lovingly egged him on. But then Thor would feel a start of guilt. Had that been too much like the brothel? Had Thor hurt him? Even if Thor hadn't meant to, would Loki have been able to tell the difference?_ _

__The more he learned about his intended, the more Thor realized Loki had never had such love as Thor had meant to offer him. Had never been treated with care._ _

___I want to give you care. I want you to take pleasure in love,_ he would think, and will his cock to go down. It seemed perverse to think of Loki's sweet cries, his lovely taste, after learning what he had suffered. So instead Thor would go to his garden and pull whatever weeds there were, hack at the poison nettles, keeping it in good order for Loki. The work cleared his mind of anger and loneliness. In Asgard, he'd been so occupied unraveling the mystery that he had been able to postpone some of his pain at missing Loki. Here, he was not so lucky._ _

__One night, after clearing up the garden and cottage as best he could, he started over the bridge, heading back to his encampment. He found Sif waiting in the clearing just beyond. Though she was his oldest friend and dearest comrade-in-arms, though by now they had fought countless battles across this realm together, Thor had to breathe in deep before he could greet her._ _

__Odin had called her back to Asgard not a week ago. As one of the maidens who might have been his new bride, and as one nobly born, she had the right to put a test to his current betrothed. The right to throw off everything, to upend Thor's dream, to destroy the entire reason Thor was fighting this miserable war on his father's orders._ _

__But Sif only rolled her eyes when she caught sight of him._ _

__"Shelve that hangdog face, will you?" she said. She sat on one of the stumps the Aesir had made when they'd toppled the great trees in this part of the forest. Thor went and took the stump next to hers, leaning over with his forearms on his knees. They'd used to sit in this manner when they were small, when he'd been newly-arrived on Asgard and Sif his only friend, the only child brave enough to handle his strange feral ways and his tantrums._ _

__"I didn't even want to test him," she told Thor. "Your father insisted. But it's my right to choose what the test is, at least, as it's my blessing upon your union that's on the line."_ _

__"And?" Thor asked, anxious about the result._ _

__Sif's lovely face became exasperated._ _

__"And I blessed him! Do you think I would not, when I know the depth of your affection for him? I played at visiting him to see how he and the babe were getting along, and while I was there I challenged him to a storytelling competition, as your little giant is a born liar and so it seemed to me he would win. And he did, so here is my blessing."_ _

__She held out a letter. Thor stared at it, dumbfounded. Odin had decreed that Loki was to be treated like a commoner, and the old ways dictated that while a common bride was being tested, there was to be no contact with the heir. No communication. For Sif to attempt such a runaround despite Odin's commitment to this farce seemed particularly daring._ _

__"You will not be punished for this?" Thor asked, not taking the letter._ _

__"If it bothers the Allfather, then he shouldn't have insisted I would make a fine bride for you, without ever once consulting me," Sif said wryly. "I'm getting tired of people telling me it's my fondest dream to be with you. And in any case, with the state your giant was in, it was easy enough to suggest that he phrase things in such a way as to dodge Odin's rules. Now take it. The sooner you read it, the sooner you can write a response, the sooner I can be done with all of this nonsense."_ _

__Thor took it, wondering at some of her words. But when he opened it he realized what she meant._ _

___Dear Lady Sif,_ _ _

___I thank you to tell Thor the following things:_ _ _

___First of all I suppose he feels he's very clever, to have tricked me out of my home and dragged me to this realm of his. I am not impressed. The sun shines with uncommon viciousness and I've never seen such small, hideous people, smelled such a headache-inducing profusion of flowers as everyone seems to be growing in their window boxes all the time, tasted such disgustingly hedonistic things as their plump and enticing grapes from Alfheim or their strange chocolate cakes imported from Midgard, nor heard such terrible sounds as the various Aesir war-symphonies playing in the bandstands in all of your infernal central squares._ _ _

___If I have to listen to 'Battle Hymn of the Ravens - An Electronic Folk Dance Ballad in Honor of Odin' one more time, I shall scream._ _ _

___Second, tell him it is very insolent of him to have pretended he could not spare a thousand gold when every single building here is caked in the stuff, which makes the whole city gaudy and unappealing. Yesterday part of my bathing room had to be repaired and I asked for some fine, normal glass and marble fixtures as one might find on Jotunheim but was given such a look of shock and disdain I had to settle for another gold pot to piss in. What is the purpose of making everything gold? When everything is gold gold loses its meaning. I want to turn the entire city to wood just to see everyone's faces._ _ _

___Third if he is to run off and leave me here he should know I have been to three tourneys and six theater shows and one Asgardian Netball Competition already and been propositioned by many, many warriors and actors and netball professionals, all of whom like me very much, particularly my sparkling wit. Even when I am silent, however, they are utterly enraptured with me. You can explain to Thor that I have been given a new Aesir form in order to keep from literally burning alive in his hellscape of a kingdom, and as a result I am now extremely beautiful by Asgardian standards. I'm told my eyes are a magnificent blue-green like the ocean glittering on the shores of Vanaheim, and that my new skin is 'alabaster,' apparently some sort of lovely pale building material that I can already tell is extremely rare and precious to Thor's people, as all you have to build with is gold instead. So you tell Thor that in his absence, the suitors are mounting, and I am ready just about to consider some proposals._ _ _

___This is because I am not some dumb, backwards little heathen, as he thinks I am. I have been poked and prodded by his healers and pronounced perfectly fit to give him an heir when he returns, but will I? This is what you are to tell him first and foremost, Lady Sif. WILL I EVER ACCEPT HIM AGAIN? AFTER THE TRICK HE HAS PLAYED?_ _ _

___TELL THOR THE ONLY TRICKS TO BE PLAYED BETWEEN US ARE TO BE PLAYED BY ME. PRINCE HE MAY BE, BUT I WILL NOT ABIDE SUCH ARROGANT, ROTTEN DUPLICITY AS HE ENGAGED IN WHEN HE LURED ME HERE._ _ _

___Coldest regards, and may you go with the frost-tinged blessings of Ymir, Lady Sif,  
Blueskin_ _ _

__Thor stared at the letter for a few long, long moments._ _

__Then he stared at it some more._ _

__Slowly, his anger and worry were breaking, giving way to a newer, lighter anger. No longer the rage of despair but now the frustrated, relieved upset of a man confronted by sheer insolence._ _

__"This little hypocrite has some backbone!" he roared, when he found his voice. He stood, unable to contain his affront, forced into pacing. "Duplicity? Who is _he_ to speak of duplicity?"_ _

__"Liars never like being lied to," Sif said sagely. "He still believes he will only be your bedwarmer, and I think he quite deserves it. But he struts about like the prince he is, despite that."_ _

__"Brat!" Thor said. "Insane, mischievous, lying little brat. I shall give him a response that will leave his ears ringing!"_ _

__"Sure," said Sif, with a shrug. "Brilliant."_ _

__Thor would write something scathing. Something to knock little Loki down a few pegs. His words would be terrible, terrible arrows. He tried to come up with them now._ _

__He realized, after a half-second, that such petty verbal jousting was not his strong suit._ _

__Also, he really was relieved._ _

__He'd worried that Loki had been broken by Jotunheim, that the cruelty done to him might have rendered him like a bird with its wings clipped, too altered to even enjoy a glimmer of kindness or freedom. But Loki was ungracious and brazen as ever, and given what he had suffered, this was good. This meant he was yet unbowed._ _

__"This brat," Thor said, fondly, rubbing at his eyes. There was some wetness there, enough to make him blink. "What a completely impossible wretch I have fallen in love with."_ _

__"I'm glad you're saying it, so I don't have to," said Sif._ _

__-_ _

__Because Thor's chosen had to gain the blessing of all his other potential brides, Brunnhilde was soon called back to Asgard, as well._ _

__Thor worried less about her. The commander of the Valkyries had been very clear that she had no intention of marrying Thor herself. And, like Sif, she knew Loki's true identity, knew that he wasn't simply Thor's chosen bride, but his rightful bride. So once she returned to the central garrison, Thor approached her with his hopes no doubt written on his face._ _

__She was sitting with some of the other Valkyries in the long, low building the Aesir had constructed to serve as mess hall. When she saw Thor, she gave a groan._ _

__"Yes, I've given my blessing. Challenged him to a bout, but then I threw the fight—"_ _

__"Good. I thought you might," Thor said. There was nowhere to sit, as the Valkyries seemed to have closed ranks the moment he'd begun to approach their table, so he leaned instead against the wall, inviting himself to stay._ _

__"How is he?" he asked. "My Blueskin."_ _

__Odin would have told Brunnhilde not to reveal Loki's identity, he thought. She frowned now and said, short about it, "Isn't it strange to you that you have brought a frost giant into Asgard, while we make war against his people? Yes, I know the party line is that Odin wants you to breed little blue princes to rule here once we've obliterated a more-or-less functioning society, but this takes your line's dynastic perversions a bit far, don't you think?"_ _

__Thor frowned, unsure of what she was getting at, and rather certain he should be offended._ _

__"It wasn't functioning," he said. "Laufey's society, I mean."_ _

__The Valkyries looked at each other coolly, their expressions communicating something Thor could not parse._ _

__"We took a temple in Wintergeld Valley last week," Brunnhilde said, voice clipped. "Not full of their monks or priests or anything. The people of Wintergeld had taken it from the priests. But they didn't want to give it to us. Do you know what they said? 'Laufey is horrible, but at least he's one of us.'"_ _

__Thor flushed despite himself. He knew that the giants did not deserve this war, and that this was a poor way to restore to them a society free of Laufey's tyranny. He knew that this wasn't what they wanted, too, that no one seemed to want this war, least of all the people fighting in it. And yet he had not thought the Valkyries would be so free with their own criticism._ _

__"You are warriors," he said now, harsher than he meant to. "Why balk at taking back the realm from Laufey, merely because it necessitates war?"_ _

__"I balk," Brunnhilde said tartly, "because your father entertains lies and secrets and so drags this conflict on, and you do as well. You do it because you're a bit of a fool, highness. Not to mention in love. But Odin — _he_ drags this war on because he has decided that the frost giants are to be punished. Not just Laufey. All of them." _ _

__Thor swallowed hard._ _

__"I cannot think how we could end this war, with Laufey's casket blocking us from the heart of the realm. And I cannot think what my father would want to punish all of the giants for," he said. "And that is your king you speak of—"_ _

__Brunnhilde raised a hand, cutting him off. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and dipped her chin, and this was evidently some sort of code in the Valkyrie language, for her band rose now and began gathering up their plates and tankards._ _

__Brunnhilde, for her part, leaned across the foot or so of space between her and Thor and spoke low, so low he had to strain to hear her._ _

__"Your glorious father," she said, voice dripping with contempt, "is so great a king he will not, cannot face his own errors. Tell me, Prince Thor. Did he show any regret, when he found out one of his own children had been reduced to whoring for the giants? Did he own his part in causing it?"_ _

__Thor closed his eyes. He supposed it was obvious, then, that Odin had not. Would not._ _

__"That's what I thought," Brunnhilde said, with a snort. "Oh yes, we need to get rid of Laufey. But that is not why Odin wages this war. That has never been why Odin grasps for power, for control. When Balder died we spent fifty weeks in trenches on Svartalfheim, violently quashing an uprising the elves very well could have handled themselves."_ _

__Thor frowned, opening his eyes now. Brunnhilde was not looking at him, but at something on the other side of the hall, yet he couldn't shake the sense that all her focus was right here._ _

__"For someone with such bitter criticisms for the Allfather, you rival him for how you can talk circles around the point," he said._ _

__"The _point_ , highness, is that your father cannot simply take a hit and build up scar tissue like the rest of us!" Brunnhilde snapped. "No, when the Allfather stumbles, the only thing to right it is secrets on secrets, and war on war. While Utgard crafts new blizzards to cloak their supply lines, the valleys of Jotunheim band together against us terror. They know us as enemy invaders—"_ _

__"My own grandmother was a frost giant," Thor protested, but this only made her contempt deepen. She stood, staring at him like he had transformed into something she might find at the bottom of a dirty drinking glass._ _

__"I do not know what your silly little courtship game is," she hissed, "but the giants do not want the Aesir to defeat Laufey. The giants want to be saved from Laufey's cruelty by _giants_. That is their right, as well, the one dignity Asgard could do them after years of permitting Laufey to flourish here. And it seems to me there is one giant in Asgard who could be useful right about now, only your father does not want to admit one of you has erred."_ _

__She turned to go, but did not make it two steps before she whirled around again and stalked right up to him._ _

__"I do pity him," she said, though she did not seem to have any pity in her eyes at all. "I know he's young, and I know he was badly treated. As my blessing, I gave him the right to train with our maidens still on Asgard, so that he might learn to fight. I hear he is not bad with throwing knives. But instead of being trained to marry _you_ , highness, he ought to be trained to be a prince in his own right, the prince his people need."_ _

__Then she left, and Thor, feeling shaken by the encounter, by the truths she spoke, spent some time there against the wall, head in his hands._ _

__-_ _

__After that disastrous encounter, Thor's brief joy over Loki's letter evaporated. And, what's more, Brunnhilde's disdain meant he did not even wish to approach Hela. Not that he ever wanted to approach her. And not that it was easy to find her, for in times of war she made it her business to always be at the front. War delighted her; it was a crime she could perpetrate with absolute glee._ _

__But one day, when he was making camp in the snows around Utgard with forty or fifty other Asgardians, all of them preparing to intercept a possible supply run coming in from the Western archipelago, Hela tossed aside the flap of his tent and stalked in. She made herself at home in an instant, lounging on his piled fur bedding as though it were a throne._ _

__"So," she said._ _

__She kicked one corner of a mirror Thor had propped near the bedding, a lightweight thing that teetered and then settled itself in place to reflect Hela, to send rectangles of light playing on her too-pale skin. The saturated darkness of her hair fluttered in the freezing wind coming through the tentflap. This made her look particularly inky and menacing, which was likely just what she intended._ _

__"Can I help you?" Thor demanded, for he never could abide her productions._ _

__"No, but I can help you," she said, admiring herself in the mirror. "I've been hearing another little rumor, besides the one that Loptr offed himself. It seems now the story is that he yet lives, but he went and tricked you into bringing on this war."_ _

__Thor gave a start. He could see by her sharp gaze that there would be no point denying that Loki lived. Possibly Odin had told her himself, even._ _

__"That's a slanted take," he settled for saying._ _

__"Is it?" she asked. Now she looked at him. She grinned, the expression blooming on her like a bruise. "I almost like him. He's such a savage thing. And if you're wondering whether Odin came out and told me the truth, he didn't, but I'm no fool and I don't think he would be wasting time on a mere whore. Anyway, whatever the truth, I hope he is Loptr."_ _

__Thor stared at her._ _

__"You don't get to be the Allmother if it is him," he said._ _

__"Right," she said, with a shrug. "I don't get to dance at the old fool's beck and call. That's fine by me. Odin pushed me into the realm of the dead as a little girl, kept me in the shadows to fight back his enemies. And I _love_ fighting enemies, don't get me wrong. But our impending marriage bothered me, Thor. I don't know why Odin considered saddling us together, but I assure you, it wasn't for any particular affection he might have for me._ _

__"At least Loptr thwarted him for a bit. Thwarted you, too, apparently. He'll be a fine addition to the family. He does whatever he pleases, just like the rest of us."_ _

__She leaned forward and tapped the Hela in the mirror._ _

__"Sorry, no. I meant the _best_ of us."_ _

__"Have you given him your blessing or not?" Thor demanded, beginning to lose patience._ _

__"Of course," Hela said, shrugging. "He was worried about a spell cast over him, that he thinks keeps him from dying. I promised him that it would wear out someday."_ _

__She smiled._ _

__"Though he might regret it when it does. Oh, and I gave him a wolf."_ _

__"What?" Thor said. "A _wolf_?"_ _

__Hela only shrugged a second time. "He tells me he hates riding horses. Anyway, you know what comes next, don't you? Odin tests him in strategy. Only I suppose it doesn't come next, as Odin's been doing it all this time."_ _

__"What do you mean?" Thor demanded._ _

__She looked sidelong at him, seeming satisfied for some reason._ _

__"The tafl games. The silliest part of this bride-test, if you ask me, for war is war and games only games. But Odin has always confused the two. When he plays against your Loptr, the board is a tricky thing, Thor. One look at it, and it's clearly an approximation of Jotunheim's terrain. Odin plays the defending side. He would, as it's the side with a built-in advantage."_ _

__Thor felt his mouth drop open._ _

__"You mean _Loki's_ been waging this war? It's his strategies we're employing?"_ _

__"Asgard sleeps their way around the nine realms for a reason, Thor," Hela said, as though he were being very foolish. "That way we always have people on the inside, who can unlock for us the secrets of the worlds we claim for our own. Clever, isn't it?"_ _

__"No. Horrible," Thor said, when he found his voice. He wanted to rush to Asgard, right now, and yet he knew that if he did Odin might well devise some punishment to keep him and Loki apart for longer. That he could not bear. He clenched his fists, willing away his anger, and said, "Does Loki even know father is testing him by making him wage war on his own realm?"_ _

__The corners of Hela's mouth quirked up._ _

__"Almost like Odin is punishing him, for his defiance. Not that Odin would ever call it that. Odin might even think it's a gift. Empowering him to take his throne back."_ _

__Her eyes glittered._ _

__"I'm almost envious, myself."_ _


	25. Chapter 25

"As you know, I detest absolutely everything about Asgard," Loki told his tutor, on the morning he first realized that he enjoyed a great many things about Asgard.

Freya Understairs, a gifted mage as well as Ginnarr's mistress, said nothing at first. She had seen Loki's complete delight over the magical fountains, the gold-tinted streets, the gardens and theater shows and libraries tucked into far corners of the city. But she didn't contradict him now. She only nodded placidly. 

"I cannot say I like it all the time," she said, offhand about this. "Today I'm quite upset. One of my dearest friends will be sent away to fight on Jotunheim soon. Oh, it _is_ dreary."

Then, as was customary for her, she turned Loki into a badger.

He wasn't always a badger. Sometimes he was snake, horse, beetle, pig, nearly everything he'd made Sleipnir. When he'd first been brought to Freya's townhouse, he'd been made to give an accounting of his magic to her. How he could work some imperfect illusions, how he had invented his own rather ramshackle travel spells. How he could call certain beasts, and push back his own hunger. And how he played with the baby the way he did, making Sleipnir into whatever would seem to coax out the child's own reserves of magic.

Freya had been brisk and businesslike that day, her gold-brown hair pinned back, her simple green skirts rustling as she'd strode to and fro before Loki, regarding him.

"Yes, changing form does make one's magic nice and reactive," she'd said, in almost a murmur to herself. "It's why magic is so easy for a child in the womb to take hold of, for the child is always shifting and changing. And you should feel your own magic very strongly now that they have bleached you Aesir."

He did feel it. He had. His new form felt just that. Marvelously _new._ Untouched. Unharmed. Bursting with power. He wished he could remake himself over and over and over to always feel that way, always feel this powerful, this unsullied. 

"And you can change yourself," Freya had continued. "Yes? You can switch your own form?"

He'd shaken his head dumbly, feeling stupid at how he had never tried that. This had not seemed to bother Freya, however. With a flick of her wrist, she'd turned him into a bird — a crow, he learned later. She'd caught the baby from his arms before Sleipnir had fallen to the floor, and as Loki, panicked, fluttered and squawked above her, Freya had said, not unkindly, "Time to start the lessons, then. Well, turn yourself back when you figure it out."

It had taken several days. When he was back to himself she'd fed him a large meal, bouncing the happy Sleipnir on her knee as Loki ate ravenously, for as a crow he'd had little to sup on but worms pulled from her garden. Then she'd said, "Again!" And with just as little warning as before she'd transformed Loki into a fish for a week, dropping him into her waterlily-strewn pond and visiting him daily with Sleipnir until he managed to turn himself back from that.

He was getting better at it now. It took not twenty minutes to come back from being a badger. He found Freya in her study and shifted form into a badger again, then back, then again, then back again, to demonstrate he had mastered the thing.

Sleipnir, eating his own toes on the study rug, laughed and laughed to see his father appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. He always viewed shapeshifting as a sort of peek-a-boo, whether it was Loki doing it or Freya or Sleipnir himself.

"Very good," Freya said. "Breakfast now. It's waiting in the kitchen for you. I've some work I owe the crown, and will be down in a bit."

She waved Loki out of the study, paying him scarcely any mind as he scooped up Sleipnir and went down into her sunny kitchen. There she had indeed laid out breakfast, or one of the other students had, the giggling girls who visited her from all over Asgard and kept house for her in exchange for learning magic. Loki fell upon the meal. As he ate, Sleipnir nuzzled into Loki's shirts, cooing, but when Loki reached for one of the ever-warm bottles Freya kept for him on the sideboard, he declined it. He had been weaned by now, and was nuzzling it seemed just to nuzzle. So Loki cuddled him close as he breakfasted. 

Sleipnir babbled more and more happily the longer Loki held him. At some point Freya strode in and leaned over them, pressing a kiss to the child's head, before making her way to the stove to pour herself some of the bitter Vanir bean-drink she always kept a pot of. 

"Why do you detest Asgard?" she asked now.

"The heat," Loki said promptly. "I hate the heat."

"It cannot harm you. Your form is Aesir for now. And I thought you liked your new form."

"I do," Loki admitted, for sometimes he told Freya true things. Freya had become, in a short amount of time, someone like Angrboda, someone like Nurse. She seemed to fit into his life as a friend, for all that he'd never been able to get the hang of those.

"The trouble is I know this form is not mine," he decided. "It's newer and cleaner than my old form, but I am still me inside. I shall always be me inside."

And that was the difficulty. Who or what he was. For whether he went by Loptr or Blueskin, he was still not Thor's equal. He never had been that, and perhaps never would be, and little wonder that was. He'd grown up being told he was to be the perfect match for Thor, he'd rebelled based purely on his revulsion for Thor, he'd fallen in love with Thor, and now he was here, in Asgard, for Thor. He seemed incapable of being anything on his own. 

When Thor was with him, his mind quieted and he could pretend this state of affairs was perfectly alright. But with Thor on Jotunheim he was left with the same shrieking, furious rage and loneliness as before. Even now, even in this golden realm, he was a restless, unhappy thing. Not only was he less than Thor, a mere plaything waiting for Thor's return, but he could scarcely seem to do that properly, so terribly did he miss Thor. It was like he could only _be_ if Thor were about.

He couldn't communicate this tangle to Freya. How strange such a hungry, pathetic need would be, coming from a giant only here because Thor needed a breeder, because Thor would require someone to make Jotunn heirs with once the war wrapped up. Thor was a prince. Loki was only his whore. So he stayed quiet and bobbed Sleipnir as Freya squinted at him.

"Cleaner?" she said, after a few seconds.

Loki felt his face grow warm. No doubt he was coloring the odd pink many Aesir took on when they were embarrassed.

Not despoiled, he'd meant. Not used. Not choked or drowned or mutilated, raped or stripped or hurt. But he and Freya weren't _that_ close, not yet, though he knew she might understand if he tried to explain. She had been a Vanir scullery maid before she'd escaped and come to Asgard, as part of an arrangement with Ginnarr similar to his and Thor's. Apparently the Aesir, known for their sexual appetites, had a perfect mania for inviting people home to breed.

"How is Thor?" Loki asked now, rather than answer her question. "Is there news?"

He meant news from the palace, where Freya spent much of her time working as a mage, and where it seemed all the real news was. The rest of Asgard got their news from the realm's single newspaper, the _Thought and Memory_ , which did little but report joyous victories over Jotunheim. As far as Loki could tell, this was no better than the various propaganda mills Laufey had himself employed, for when Thor had written him a letter to answer the letter Loki had given the Lady Sif, Thor's words had seemed utterly devoid of any of the hopeful patriotism embodied by the printed news trickling down to Asgard.

 _Dear Sif_ , Thor had begun, _You must tell Blueskin this: this war keeps me from writing to him. From visiting him. From being with him as I would wish to. You must tell him that, were it my choice, I would have gone with him to Asgard, and would be with him now. I would have him in my arms, and Sleipnir too, and I would not let them go for a year. At the very least, I would write regularly, and I know I will not be able to, for all my attention must be on this barbaric campaign, relentless and grueling._

That did not sound victorious. Loki had taken it to Freya, with shaking hands, and she had looked at it gravely for a few moments and promised she would find him more accurate news than was in the newspaper, a truer account of how Thor and the rest of the Aesir forces were faring. 

"They say he has asked to concentrate his own band on Utgard," Freya said now, biting her lip. "It seems he wishes to be the one to take Laufey's head."

"Good," Loki said.

And not-good, in a way, for if Loki knew Laufey then his stepfather would have the strongest defenses around his own capitol city. But Loki did not _want_ Thor attacking other places, places that had done little but try to survive Laufey. Loki's own feelings on the war were a muddle, and most days he could only think that if Thor was safe and Asgard only left _most_ of Jotunheim un-ravaged, then that would be the best they could hope for.

It was glorious to be in Asgard. It was glorious to see its cafes, its bookstores and theater shows, its great magical fruit stalls and rambling gardens. It was a lovely distraction from the dread that so often settled inside Loki when he thought of Jotunheim, when he remembered his own poor realm, beaten into such submission by Laufey and now beaten again, by Odin's rage over losing the bride he had wanted for Thor.

"Do you think it was losing prince Loptr that caused this war?" Loki asked Freya now. It took courage to ask this. It felt like an admission of guilt. 

Freya only looked at him in a very measuring way. She said, "This war has been coming since Odin first neglected that realm, young Blue. Remember that."

Most days he could. But when he thought of Thor hurt, of Thor potentially falling in battle, it was difficult to not feel guilt. Thor and innumerable giants, Loki's own people, pitted against each other. Loki was grateful to be away from Jotunheim, away from Laufey's hold, and yes, away from the bloodshed. He was grateful to be in a realm full of gardens and theater shows and libraries. And yet when he thought of Jotunheim suffering, and Thor suffering too, even lovely Asgard began to feel suffocating.

Now, quite without meaning to, he took his free hand and began scratching out the runes of a protection spell on his thigh. It was a pitiful thing, nothing like the grand spells the crown commissioned from Freya, for Loki wasn't yet half the mage she was. But it was something he could offer Thor. He spent half his nights awake, worrying, scratching out things like this and hoping against hope they might reach Thor.

Such a thing was possible. Nurse, convalescing in the city's grandest healing hall, had told him his own mother had cast such a spell on Loki. So surely if Loki worked hard, he could do the same for Thor.

Freya caught sight of him trying, though. She sighed into her mug, making her bitter black brew ripple a bit. She'd been trying for weeks to break Loki of rune-magic, which she said was like Vanir weaving: an elementary way of doing things.

"The runes must be here," she told Loki now, tapping at her temple with her finger. "Or the threads, or whatever manner you use to calculate your spells. Either way, you cannot rely on making those calculations so slowly. They must be sketched lightning-quick, in your mind, without even thinking. Your Thor casts his own magic in just that manner, instinctively. You must be the same."

"I am not so grand as Thor," Loki said, swallowing the bitter lump in his throat. "I never have been."

"You are a thinker where he is a doer, but that does not mean you are less grand," Freya said, rolling her eyes. "It only means that you put more effort into things, but to be in expert in magic you must make effort into ease. And as you haven't mastered that yet, I think I will set you to illusions today. Now give him over."

She held out her hands for Sleipnir, who she lavished so much affection on that at times it was enough to make Loki jealous, though Loki knew by now that it was a bit low of him to feel that way. Sleipnir deserved her kindness and attention, particularly after Loki had proven such a poor parent to him. And Freya had lost her own son, he'd learned, to some illness many years ago, so she approached Sleipnir as though just having the child about was a special privilege for her.

For all that Loki had loved his own mother, and for all that Farbauti had done to protect him, sometimes he could not help but wish instead that he'd had a mother like Freya. If he had, he thought he might have _known_ he was loved, instead of having to wonder about it all the time. Nurse said his mother's adoration for him was powerful, but Loki had never exactly felt it. He'd never felt like anyone loved him, except perhaps Nurse herself, and later Angrboda. And Sleipnir, for he was too young to know any better.

And Thor. 

The rest of Thor's letter had made very clear his affection for Loki. More than affection. Yearning, as Loki yearned for him. 

_When we see each other, love, which we will someday, I will let you take charge of me. I have tried to treat you with proper tenderness and respect until now, and I hope I have, but in case I haven't I now ask you to teach me what you like. Tell me. Put me down on my knees before you (do you remember that night in the Ironwood when you kneeled before me? Love, it sustains me now, thinking of the picture you made), and guide me to your pretty mound, if you like. Wrap your thighs about me. Make me pleasure your cock. Whatever you like, you shall have it. I shall not make a sound, but shall be yours for many long hours, yours to command. Would you like that?_

Loki would. Loki did. Though he had not shown Freya this part of the letter, he'd spent hours tracing the words over the past few weeks. Now he thought of them and asked, "Does it matter what I make illusions of?" 

"Does it ever matter?" said Freya, like she didn't often make very specific demands for his illusions. She paused to blow a raspberry on Sleipnir's generous little belly, making him shriek happily. "Corporeality. That is what you must work on. You have mastered sentience and sound, but your illusions still have no actual form when touched. Give them some form, some solidity, and they'll be perfect. Only you must do that by _willing_ them into being. You won't get there by scratching out runes."

Then she waved Loki off. She was an exacting teacher, but not a micromanaging one, not controlling or belittling as the temple priests had been. She did not hover over Loki when Loki wished to figure things out for himself, which was always. So now Loki trudged up the stairs to his room in the attic, large and cool compared to the rest of the house, and all hung with pretty tapestries of the Vanir shore and full of fine, spindly wooden furniture that made even him feel too tall. The door to the room was a peaked thing, like the door to a little Vanaheim chapel, and he locked it behind him. Then he stood leaning against it for a moment, thinking, willing out his illusion spell.

He didn't need to sketch it out, not for this one. He knew precisely what Thor looked like, knew those broad shoulders, the great arms, the powerful thighs. The fine smattering of golden hair on Thor's calves, the arched bend of his feet. The precise glint of his hair, too, and the handsome curve of his upper lip. His eyes, bright beneath his dark brows. It was easy to keep from resorting to runes now, because Loki's hands were busy darting into his trousers to stroke his tip, cajole his cock into flowering out just as he willed Thor's cock to come into being. Thick, long, the veins prominent. Thor's testicles, too, nestled in the golden fur between his thighs, beneath the magnificent vee at his hips and the flat planes of his stomach.

When Loki opened his eyes, the illusion was before him. Thor. He let out a ragged breath. The image was so close, but when he reached out a hand it passed through Thor, for Freya was right. He still needed to master corporeality. He groaned and hit his head against the door.

"What is it, my Blueskin?" asked the illusion.

Even the voice was right. Loki had spent long hours getting it right, after all. The confident, easy burr Thor had, tinged with that noble Asgardian accent. 

"I want you to touch me," Loki told him plaintively now. For that was the only way not to devolve into frantic, desperate rune-sketching. To give himself over to the illusion. "And to touch you. You said I could."

"Ah, in my letter," said this Thor teasingly. "I did, didn't I? Is that why you kept it?"

"I kept it because when Freya's Valkyrie friend came over she caught me reading it, and she said it might serve to blackmail you with someday," Loki admitted.

But also because he loved that letter. Loved to think of Thor safe and thinking of him, and loved to read over all of Thor's promises for them. He kept stroking at his cock while the illusion watched him, for it was a good illusion and responded the way Thor might, echoing his movements. The sight of those powerful hands reaching for Thor's own thick prick, stroking in time to Loki's strokes, made Loki's head spin.

"You know the runes, love," Thor said. "Now do not think of them. Will them."

"They're too complex," Loki said. And now his mind was wandering, his pleasure mounting. Even Thor's smell was just right. Like storms, or the sweet, sun-soaked earth of Freya's back garden. 

"Ease into them," Thor said. "Come, my Blueskin. I want to touch you too, and I cannot until you perfect this."

And oh, wasn't that the enticement Loki needed? Just as desperation had forced his first illusions out of him, now sheer desire took over. For he was getting so, so wet between his legs, and he was so, so tired of sating himself there with nothing but his own fingers. He thought and thought the runes until he was sobbing with need, slicking up the fabric of his trousers, leaking drools of precome over his fist. Then they melted into something he understood, something real. He felt them, he willed them. He felt the spongy tip of Thor's prick touch his, and his eyes flew open again.

"Yes, love. Yes," said this Thor he had made, and wonderfully solid fingers traced Loki's mouth.

Thor dropped to his knees. The golden strands of his hair flew out and kissed Loki's hipbones, a faint brush Loki could have cried over, for it felt quite genuine for all that it was a bit of magic. 

"I want you to fuck me," Loki told him earnestly. "You would not fuck me before, remember? When I had the baby still in me."

Though Thor had liked him then, liked how large and heavy and blue he'd been. Now Loki felt a small snarl of panic. Did his actual Thor, the real Thor, think of him still like that? Would he be repulsed if he saw Loki as Loki was now? Loki was handsomer in some ways, for Freya's Valkyrie friend had pushed him to train with a small warrior band three times a week, and he was not so skinny-legged and frail anymore. He would never be a beauty, but now he had muscle of his own. But Thor had had strange tastes. He might not like Loki as pale as he was now, or as trim about the middle. Even Loki's breasts were gone now that Sleipnir was weaned, and Thor had loved those. 

But this Thor, the dream Thor, would not reject him, for this was not Thor but only Loki's desire for him made real. This Thor passed his hands over Loki's thighs and began to pull his trousers down, revealing the slick mess between Loki's legs. Pink and wet, crowned by a patch of fine dark hair now, as apparently body hair was what all Aesir had in place of markings. Thor passed a finger over it, affection still in his eyes. 

"I said I wanted to be the one to breed you, love," he told Loki. "That has not changed, even if you have."

Oh, Loki hoped the real Thor would think so too. Hoped so rather desperately. He now reached for this Thor, fingers tangling in the long golden hair, and clumsily managed to get free of his trousers and then get his legs about Thor's shoulders. Thor bore the weight easily, just as he knew the real Thor would, and with a growl and some more clumsy movements they were both of them lurching to the bed, where the illusion dropped him and then stood over him. Loki's back hit the mattress and he blinked up, dazed, but the illusion did not move, only waited patiently for his orders.

Now this was magic. Now it was real, true magic. For though this Thor was not real, Loki had given him life enough to be carried about by him. To feel the warmth of him as his fingers passed over Loki's bare thighs. To be fucked by him.

"In me," Loki said. "Now, Thor."

The real Thor prepared him, always feeding him a finger, then another, then another, as Loki cried for more, for as many as he could. But Loki was not so patient today. Today he wanted to feel the thickness of Thor's heavy cock breaching his cunt, sliding into him to the hilt, and he knew that as it was magic, he could will away any pain himself. He let out a pleased little sigh as this Thor's heavy weight settled over him, that golden body blanketing his. He wound his arms about the broad shoulders, spreading his legs to give Thor access. The thick, blunt head of Thor's cock parted his cunt lips, rubbing for a moment against the wet there as Loki ground up against him.

"If he were here, my Blueskin," whispered this Thor, "you could have him take your here, couldn't you?"

His fingers found the hole at Loki's rear and traced it, making Loki shudder. 

"Then I could take this hungry little cunny," the illusion continued. "We could both have you at once, and you not one Thor but two. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He would. Oh, he would. He wouldn't feel low and shamed over being a bedwarmer, over giving up his cunt to be bred. This Thor couldn't breed him, and so there would be no resulting child, no poor little thing sacrificed to Asgard. But this Thor wasn't quite perfect, for he wasn't _Thor_. Though he could roll his hips and push into Loki, filling Loki up, making Loki scream at the sudden intrusion, it was the real Thor Loki wanted. 

"You remember what it felt like when he was in you," this Thor panted out now, sliding in, a rod of heat that stretched and stretched Loki, the pleasure nearly unbearable. "It felt like this, didn't it?"

Just like this. Just this good, with Loki unable to help his moans, though now he shoved a fist in his mouth to keep from being heard by Freya. Thor fucked him harder now, rougher, making the bed shake. A distant part of Loki was amazed, for this Thor did nothing he did not want, and so he realized that he _wanted_ this. This snap of Thor's hips, the press of Thor's body holding him up, the hungry need when Thor retreated and left him empty before filling him up again.

 _Slut_ , chanted the part of his mind that was always chanting that. _Dirty. Just as they say._

"Aye, well then me too," said the Thor-illusion. "Come now, Loki. Can it be so wrong? You are Aesir now. The Aesir do not care. And if they do not care, can this be so evil?"

Loki blinked at him. Thor did not stop driving into him. The pleasure was muddling his mind now, his body going boneless in time to the rasp of Thor's heavy cock inside him. There was, in a distant and shadowy corner of his mind, the specter of the brothel still. Thor pressed harder into him as if to erase that, hitting a spot inside Loki that made him sob outright.

"Loki," whispered Thor. "Loki, Loki. There is no brothel, love. There is no war. There is nothing but you and I, with each other, and I belonging to you as you to me."

"You're the heir," Loki told him, between ragged breaths. The perfect fantasy of this made it easier to just come out with it. He wasn't really telling Thor any damning truths. He was telling those truths to a comforting lie, a lie that fucked him full and made the bed shake. "You're the heir and I'm just your whore. I was always meant to be that, even when they called me prince."

"You chose to be my whore," Thor reminded him. "You didn't want to fight it, in the end."

Loki closed his eyes. Thor fisted his hands in Loki's hands, pressed his heavy weight down on Loki, and kept driving into him, his cock always rubbing Loki's pleasure-spot. He pressed his lips to Loki's, his mouth warm on Loki's. Loki didn't want to fight this. So he could only smile sadly against Thor's mouth.

"I like it. I'll let you do what you like to me, so long as you are kind and good as you always are. I'd complain, but I'd let you."

"As I would let you," Thor said, roughly. "I told you so, didn't I?"

He sped up his thrusts, for Loki wanted them faster, wanted to feel overcome with Thor. Wanted it simply so that his mind could stop racing, stop obsessing, now it had caught hold of something he wished he could let go of.

"It still doesn't make us equals," he panted. 

"You chose that," Thor said. "Chose not to even try."

Loki had to stifle another moan then, for he felt so raw and sensitive around Thor's cock that the pleasure nearly hurt. His walls fluttered around Thor, around this illusion that wasn't Thor at all, but some odd, insistent part of his own mind trying to tell him something.

"How could I? Loptr was never your equal, Thor," he managed. "Nor Blueskin either."

"And Loki?" Thor said. "What of him? Could he be?"

Loki blinked. Thor slammed into him, making him cry out, leaving him feeling like he was floating. But there was no Thor, not really. Loki stared down at his own fingers, wet with his own slick, dazed.

The image of Thor was gone, and he realized belatedly that he had not even a single strand of golden hair left to show Freya. And though it was warm in his little room, though it was always warm everywhere in Asgard, he was shivering.


	26. Chapter 26

Loki did manage to produce a silver ball with some solidity to it, but when he went back downstairs Freya was gone. She had taken Sleipnir out on her own. Loki wasn't worried by this. Freya doted on the child without reservation, as though the fat, large little infant was hers as much as Loki's. She was always carting Sleipnir about to parks and puppet shows and infant warrior training lessons at the local kindergartens, an activity Loki felt was preposterous but which seemed commonplace enough here in Asgard. Today she'd left a note explaining that they had gone to visit her friend, the one that was to be ordered to Jotunheim in a week's time.

This did not seem like so pleasant an experience as a park or puppet show, but Loki still felt a little prickle of shamed loss, that Sleipnir was off enjoying himself without his parent. With someone much better at parenting him. He smothered this. There was plenty to do on Asgard without Sleipnir. He could head for the training grounds near the palace. He could go to the theater district, or to the local library. He could even while away time in the garden, or in Freya's stables. Ginnarr's daughter, a tall woman with mocking eyes, had visited some days ago and perplexingly given Loki a wolf pup, all shaggy black fur and budding fangs. It reached the second-floor balcony when it wasn't sleeping or rolling around with a toy in its mouth. Loki liked the wolf, though he it made him feel a bit embarrassed at how much of a runt he was. Even such a small puppy was still big enough for him to ride like a horse, and as Loki was a giant, this was somewhat shameful. Not that anyone here knew that. Freya had explained to him that Fenris was large for an Asgardian wolf, and exactly the sort of exotic pet that young and dashing Asgardians tended to prefer.

 _I am young and dashing now,_ he told himself. _I am that._

At the very least, he seemed to keep turning up suitors. He would be taking Sleipnir to visit Nurse in the healing halls and might find two or three inquisitive young warriors on his heels, remarking on how he wore no lovers' braid and how firm and trim he was, and was the babe's other parent off-realm fighting giants, or simply not a factor?

Loki found the whole thing impertinent and prying, but to be forward and flirtatious, even a bit rude, seemed the done thing for the Aesir. Freya had advised him simply to bear it, not to tell anyone he was here to breed with Thor, for the royal family would likely appreciate discretion in these matters. So bear it he did, and now he had only to peer through the glass-paned front doors of the townhouse to find a gaggle of young warriors lounging under the lilac arbor across the street, laughing as they waited for him. Loki could remember where he had met them — this slender one at the opera, that compact one at some tourney he'd been to a few weeks ago — but not their names. They were not Thor. That was all that ever seemed to matter.

He went back upstairs and rifled through his closet. If his clothing was not so fine as it had been when he'd been Loptr, well, neither was it so battered and ugly as what he'd worn as Blueskin. Thor's royal house kept him well-stocked in cloaks of lovely blues and greens, fine silk tunics, leggings of supple grey calfskin and emerald-dyed linen. He dressed himself somberly, however, in mostly black and green, for he'd already resolved he would not be meeting with any of the suitors today. 

Freya's townhouse was in a fine, green district on the edge of town, her garden overlooking one of the great waterfalls which tumbled off the edge of Asgard. Her nearest neighbors were a woman named Idunn, whose magical apples were the envy of every mage of standing, Freya said, but who was a terrible snob. And another, stranger mage, a man who lived in an ugly black-domed cabin, tucked into the branches of a huge tree that grew sideways above the waterfall.

"Heimdall the All-Seeing is a friend of Thor's," Freya had said, when she'd pointed out the bizarre structure. "He's watched over the prince his whole life, wherever Thor has traveled or roamed."

And Loki had said, "What?"

He'd known about Heimdall the All-Seeing. He'd been aware that Heimdall was a being that existed. And yet it hadn't occurred to him that Heimdall saw _all_. Heimdall had probably seen far, far more than Loki wanted him to. And so despite Freya's exhortations that Loki visit Heimdall, some deep sense of terror kept him away.

But now he turned toward the back of the garden. He stopped by the stables to give Fenris the silver ball he'd called up, for even though the wolf pup had demolished a number of real silver balls with her teeth, this was an illusion and would not be destroyed. Then he smoothed down his green tunic, took a breath, and picked his way through Freya's dahlia beds to the garden's back gate. 

Here there was a winding little path along the edge of the waterfall. He unlatched the gate and let himself through, then took the path to the enormous tree that Heimdall had rather inconveniently decided to build his house in. A rope ladder dangled from its branches and Loki caught hold of it, climbing up, not for the first time grateful that he was no longer gravid with child. He made it up quickly, though he imagined he must look silly, scurrying up like this, and then stood on the little platform before the door, hand raised, unsure of whether to knock or to barge in and so maintain some element of surprise.

 _Perhaps you know who I am,_ he would sneer powerfully, to show this Heimdall that he would not be cowed by him. _What is your price, then? To buy your silence. I'm sure you've been waiting for me, to blackmail me all this time._

In the more squirrelly, nervous parts of his mind, he was sure of that. He could think of no other reason Heimdall had not told Freya, told Thor, of who he truly was. But now he needed something from Heimdall, something more than silence, and that complicated things a bit. Perhaps he could try politeness. A touch deferential, very correct. Yes, perhaps that would win Heimdall to him, no matter what Heimdall had seen or knew about him.

"You may as well come in, young Blueskin," came a man's voice, nearly making him jump off the platform. "We know you're out there."

 _We?_ Loki thought shakily.

It was Freya and Sleipnir, for this was where they had gotten to. Loki blinked at them as his now-Aesir eyes tried to adjust to the dark of Heimdall's dome. Stones crunched beneath his boots, many-hued and infinite, lining all the floor. Freya sat on the stones and Sleipnir sat in Freya's lap and babbled happily at the man next to her, a handsome dark-skinned man with golden eyes and grey in his beard.

Loki did not know what to say. Perhaps something like, _Oh Ymir, please tell me you have not told my teacher what a liar I am._ To keep from bursting out with this, he sat in front of them, in this bare little room without so much as a chair to recommend it. Stones dug through his linen leggings.

"Ow," he said, without meaning to.

He cast around to try and understand why on earth Heimdall the All-Seeing should live like this, and caught sight of the vast black dome above. Little stones hung in the air there, glittering like jewels, forming great patterns, entire planets. The world tree, and all the realms spangled upon it. Loki gaped at the sight, at this makeshift observatory, and as he did so Freya picked up a stone and sent it floating up, where it formed part of the tail of a comet that whizzed about the ceiling.

"Most don't notice Heimdall's galaxies," she said, approving.

"This is what he can see?" Loki said, swallowing hard. "Every corner of the realms like this?"

The stones were small enough that so many millions of them floating in the air created an intricate picture. If he squinted, the surface of one blue realm — he thought it must be Vanaheim — seemed perfectly mapped, swirling oceans, green land, cities and squares and parks and even small stones for people. 

"This is what I think I saw, when last I saw," Heimdall said, plain about it. "Not the same thing."

"When Heimdall is busy _seeing_ , it is difficult sometimes for him to reflect on things," Freya explained. "It's only when he's alone and away from all that that he can think on the ramifications of what he sees. Interpret."

Suddenly Loki felt on much better footing with Heimdall.

"Of course. Most of the time you see, but no doubt _Odin_ interprets, for you are too busy watching things for him to understand what you always relay," Loki said. He switched from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, and found that this was more comfortable, for all that it meant he intruded on Freya's space a bit. Sleipnir reached for him, cooing. Loki grasped his chubby little hand and tickled it until he giggled. 

"It is a limitation to your great powers, to be sure," Loki finished, intending to be quite deferential and polite about this. "I noticed there was another watchman in your place, when I came here. I commend you for stepping back, away from your rightful place for now, to gain better clarity."

But Heimdall did not respond like one deferred-to. Instead he looked at Loki, his gaze making Loki's skin prickle with nerves.

"I am not the only one away from his rightful place," Heimdall said.

Loki swallowed hard. 

Freya said, gently, "Nor are you the only one gaining clarity. Blue has left his home behind, his family no doubt, his entire realm—"

 _His very name,_ bleated Loki's mind, _and yes, some might say his duty, as his realm is currently in tatters._

"—but he grows by leaps and bounds as a mage," Freya finished.

Heimdall did not have any discernible reaction to this, but he did send a glowing pebble up to add to the craggy surface of Muspelheim.

"You have come to ask about Thor," he guessed.

Loki had come to ask about himself. Thor he did not need to ask about. Thor was a sure, certain thing, a glowing inevitability like the golden platter that was Asgard above them, above all the other realms. Loki needed to know what could possibly be enough to match that. 

"How good a mage am I?" he demanded now, of Freya.

Heimdall's eyebrows climbed.

"Good enough to not need to fish for compliments, I hope," the watchman said., But it was not compliments Loki wanted, and now he found that the confident, judgmental solemnity which cloaked Heimdall was something his pride could not abide. Heimdall knew who he was, and was saying nothing about it. Loki felt toyed with. 

Did Heimdall not believe him good enough for Thor? Was that it? 

"Prince Thor needs an heir that will be magical, of a magical mother," Loki said, in crisp tones. "So this is a perfectly rational thing to ask. How powerful am I? Can I ever suit him? I have been to see that play they have put on about him in the theater district, you know, the one about his victory over that band of dwarves when he was a mere child—"

Heimdall actually snorted.

"You're trying to learn about Thor from a play, when you were with him for months," he pointed out. "Truly, young Blueskin, you _see_ but you do not _think_ —"

"I was invited to the play!" Loki said hotly. "It was an invite from the royal palace, from the crown—"

"The crown would have everyone believe Thor arrived on Asgard like a lightning bolt, all power," Heimdall said. "When he was a mere child, he was just that: a child." 

Freya said, as if this was something everyone but Loki knew, "Odin told him that if he was dutiful enough, and helped enough with those dwarves, then he would be permitted a week on Midgard with his mother."

Loki shoved aside the ugly, enraged thread now working its way through him at this. Later he would examine this information, dwell on it, and hate Odin with new fierceness. But right now he only wanted to understand how he might stop being Blueskin, as he'd stopped being Loptr. How he might be something even Odin had never anticipated: Thor's true match, his equal.

"Perhaps the play doesn't matter," he said. "I have seen Thor call down his thunder in person, have seen him fight. He is impressive, and I am only—"

"Jealous?" guessed Heimdall. Sleipnir, the sleepy little traitor, reached for Heimdall, and it was all Loki could do not to snatch his child away. 

"Not jealous," Loki lied. "Merely seeking to know how best I might do my duty by him."

"It is good you are not jealous, Blueskin," said Heimdall. "For if you were, even as you are now, safe on Asgard while he suffers on Jotunheim, gifted with new fine clothes, new knives, Valkyrie training, magical training, a great wolf—"

Sleipnir was still grasping for Heimdall. This, combined with the watchman's calm voice, made ice settle in Loki's veins. He bristled, and Freya seemed to sense that he might say something he would regret. She jumped in.

"You are who Thor wants," she said. "His chosen. Do not tie yourself in knots thinking of whether you deserve him—"

 _Deserve_ was not the point. Loki knew what he deserved, or thought he knew. A spiked barrel. A long walk off of Utgard's shortest pier. His life thus far had been short, stupid, and painful in the extreme, and the only things that made it worthwhile were Thor and magic and the little baby who Heimdall, who Loki most definitely did not like, was now calmly picking up and bouncing as though he had any right to do that.

"Why call me to Asgard if not to have me please Thor?" he demanded now. "Be good enough for Thor?"

Freya's normally-warm voice became cool.

"You talk of yourself like you are a tafl piece on a board, to be moved to and fro as might befit the prince," she said. "I wish you wouldn't. My hus — Ginnarr talks like that."

But now Loki was looking up at the galaxy, and he could not see how he could be anything else. That was what all the realms were made of: pieces to be moved to and fro, coming together to form a complex larger whole. 

Heimdall began to laugh now.

"Thank the Norns I only see," he muttered. "Thank the Norns I only rarely pretend to _interpret_ , as Odin might."

Loki, now quite tired of this and not ever a fan of hearing his own words twisted about, reached forward and took Sleipnir from his grasp, only belatedly regretting how it made the child tear up. 

"If you've something to say, watchman, say it," he snapped, bringing Sleipnir close to try and calm him.

"You do not wish that," Heimdall said, gravely and quite correctly, damn him. "But I commend you on your bravado."

He took another stone now and sent it up join the picture floating above them. As it floated past Sleipnir, the baby stopped his crying. He wriggled and tried to catch the stone, but Loki held him back, for Sleipnir was at just the age when he might place it in his mouth and so choke on it.

Heimdall pointed at the stone as it gently bobbed about, trying to find its place. 

"You see that?" he said. He spoke not to Loki, but to Freya. "I do not know where it will settle. I know that the picture, once it completes itself, will be more or less accurate, and I can see every possibility for it. But I cannot _know_ where it will go. It worries me, when I do not know how things will go. When there is some unpredictable element."

"A thread in the tapestry that will not lie smooth," Freya murmured.

They both looked at Loki, as though they feared he might be stupid enough to really think they were speaking of a stone.

"I'm trying!" Loki snapped. 

Was that not why he was asking for their guidance? Was that not the whole purpose of this visit? Asgard was perfect, and here he had everything he could ever want and even quite a bit he didn't: magic lessons, his babe, no real responsibilities to Thor or Odin, at least not yet. Yet still he felt as though he were waiting, interminably, for some change to take hold of him and make him better than he was. 

"Try harder," Heimdall advised. 

-

He did not want to be Blueskin anymore. That was the heart of the thing. Blueskin was free of Odin's rules, but did not have Thor, and Blueskin could do little for the beleaguered realm that was Jotunheim. Only he also did not want to be Loptr, for Loptr was nothing but Odin's pawn anyway, and Loptr had been so thoroughly disgraced that it was impossible to see how _he_ could be any use, either.

So he was thoroughly tangled up in his own lies. Lies that cast a long, long shadow all the way to Jotunheim. Lies that had fed this war. If he were to simply come out with it, with his identity, with his rightful title, everyone would be able to see the lies. And they would all know he was not equal to Thor. They would know he was something low indeed. 

If Freya guessed at his internal turmoil, she gave no indication. When she saw that he had perfected his illusions, she congratulated him with even harder shapeshifting challenges.

"You can be badger, snake, horse, or bird," she said. "Lovely. Now be yourself."

She meant that it was time to learn to go from Aesir to Jotunn, Jotunn to Aesir. But this was much harder than being a snake or a fish. To be a snake or fish required absolutely no understanding of the limitations of his real form. To be himself, as he'd been born, meant spending hours mapping out exactly that.

After four solid days of misery, he more or less mastered it. But it left him snappish even to Freya, and eventually she banished him from the house, telling him that neither she nor Sleipnir could abide him just then.

He went, as he often did, to Nurse. She had been convalescing in the Odin's own healing halls for months, evidently on Thor's orders. Loki tried to visit her at least once a week, though going to the palace always made it difficult for him to feel pleased with the person he was pretending to be. Loki had never wanted to play into Odin's plans and become Thor's plaything, his lesser complement, but still Loki couldn't help but feel cheated, surrounding by the indulgent riches of Odin's hall.

He felt more cheated still when he reached his Nurse's bed. Jarnsaxa of the Cloth had been looking better and better these past few weeks, and now she was bustling about with the purposeful grumpiness that was characteristic of her at her most hale. She was packing. Two great, glorious cloaks, plainly gifts from the Asgardian crown. Some smallclothes, albeit very large ones, for she was a giantess. A great deal of coin. For a moment Loki could delude himself into believing that she was going to come live with him and Freya, as indeed he'd begged her to, but for the collection of pikes and short swords she was also outfitting herself with.

"What are you doing?" he cried, when he had taken this in fully.

Jarnsaxa turned. She grimaced when she saw him. She cut an odd figure as an Aesir, tanned brown where she should have been a lovely pale robin's egg, but she was still his Nurse and he knew her well enough to know she was embarrassed about something.

"Our L—Blue," she said, using the name they had agreed would be best here. "I was going to see you today, I was. I wanted to spend one more evening with you, and tell you the news, duck. I must go back to Jotunheim."

"No you mustn't," Loki said, indignant. "You must do nothing of the sort. You're my Nurse."

For a moment he thought wildly that this was Odin's fault again, or Asgard's. They did not know Nurse was his Nurse. They thought she was theirs, their spy, and now they were forcing her onto the battlefield for them, never mind that she was his and he needed her. But Nurse was still grimacing, reaching into a pocket of her simple linen robe and producing a letter with some very familiar writing.

Thor. Thor was writing to her. To Nurse, though he'd only written one letter to Loki, and that was through the Lady Sif. Loki made a mangled sound.

"It doesn't fare well," Jarnsaxa told him grimly. "Though you and I and any giant with sense knows Laufey's no good, the trouble is most of us also think Asgard's no good. And it isn't. For us, I mean. So people are rebelling. Your Thor is having a terrible time of it, for he agrees, you know, that giants deserve to lead giants, but it falls on him to quash dissenters. He needs every good giant he can to join with him, to help keep peace among our people and show them he means well."

Loki opened his mouth and then closed it, horribly fish-like, trying to process this. There was simply too much, too much that was terrible. Nurse was leaving. Thor was ignoring him in favor of stupidly fighting his people. His people, meanwhile, were stupidly banding together to fight Thor.

Nurse came forward and put her hands on his shoulders.

"I would not leave you if Jotunheim didn't need me, love," she said. "But I must. I must go tonight, with the next band that leaves for our home."

-

Of course, when Loki was in a rage like this, Ginnarr _would_ pay a visit. Ginnarr always seemed to have a special sense of just what would most unsettle and disturb Loki. Though the old man appeared to have a pleasant back and forth with Freya, and though Loki had once or twice caught him entertaining Sleipnir with a horse puppet Freya had bought the child, Loki could not make himself like the man. 

He always seemed to know just what to say to make a gloomy mood gloomier, after all.

"How is it that you were permitted to leave the house of your father?" he asked Loki once. "To entertain the prince as you did? Is that not a gravely shameful thing on your realm?"

"Not so shameful as prying into what isn't your business," Loki had told him coolly.

And another time, as Loki had been leaving for the theater:

"What a lackadaisical, lazy thing you are, always chasing after pleasure, after opera and chocolates. I thought your people not so hedonistic in their pastimes. Is this why you've ended up with Thor? Too soft for the giants?"

"I suppose I'm Thor's version of opera and chocolates," Loki had snapped, and swept out the door to go glower at some opera singers.

And then, one day, when Ginnarr found Loki using illusions to entertain Sleipnir.

"How pitiful! To be a mage and be reduced to such tricks. Is this what you want, boy? To be broodmare and fat, doting matron, and little else?"

"I wish I were fat!" Loki had hissed, unable to come up with any better retorts, and then gathered up his child and run upstairs to his room, determined not to come back down until Ginnarr was gone.

But Freya had called him down to dinner regardless, for she seemed to feel that all who stopped under her roof were to be her family, and that family was simply another name for persons who had to face each other even when they plainly despised each other. This was certainly the case for Loki and Ginnarr. When Ginnarr was about and complaining about Loki, Loki would wait until he and Freya went to bed and then proceed to bang saucepans loudly in the kitchen until the old man thundered downstairs in a rage. When Loki was about and complaining about Ginnarr, Ginnarr would wait until Loki needed something and then find clever ways to deny it. Once, when Loki had asked Freya for some bread for a picnic lunch with Sleipnir, Ginnarr had brought out a single slice wrapped in a handkerchief and then looked at Loki coolly. Loki had been very sure he'd never been so insulted, and another terrific fight had ensued.

The only times they did not fight were when they were playing tafl. Ginnarr at least played proper tafl, Jotnar tafl, on a board designed to reflect the great continent of Jotunheim in the East, the frozen archipelago to the West.

He did always insist on playing the defending side, for he was Ginnarr and very sly. Loki bore this largely because he did not want any Aesir playing the attacker. That would be too much like real life. So he told himself that it was for the best, that Ginnarr was the sort to enjoy an easy win. 

Though the horrible old cheat insisted on making up new rules.

"If I have told you once, I have told you a million times, boy. You cannot make any plays for the archipelago."

"You haven't told me a million times," Loki said. "You've told me nine times, because we've only played this nine times. And of course I can! It's where you're getting all your supplies!"

"Well, you're the invading Aesir, and to go anywhere that cold would kill Asgardian your forces. But by all means, try it. Let me win by default."

"I cannot keep _besieging_ you on fifty fronts—"

"Whining about your inevitable loss is the most dishonorable course of action you can take," Ginnarr said blithely. "What an embarrassment you must be to your family. The prince is foolish indeed to give his heart to a mewling little ice snake like you."

Loki did not know why, after all he had endured, this should break him. He was worse than an embarrassment to his family, after all, and Thor perhaps was stupid to have fallen in love with him. But he found himself shrieking and overturning the board, stomping out of Freya's study to the sunroom where she sat with baby Sleipnir.

He wanted to seize his child and take Sleipnir somewhere, anywhere, where they might be alone and things might be quiet. Truly quiet. With no thoughts of Thor, even, much less thoughts of Jotunheim or Loki's own inadequacies. But the baby was sleeping so soundly that Freya gave him a stern look at his loud, dramatic entrance. And in any case Ginnarr had followed him into the sunroom, the beast.

"So that is what truly upsets you," he said, stroking his eyepatch and chortling. "The thought that Thor might deserve better than you."

Though by now Loki knew enough battle-maneuvers to throw a knife between his ribs, he could not do this to Freya's lover. For all he knew, while his teacher had established herself in Asgard as a mage in her own right, Ginnarr was still a noble of some standing, and not to be offended. He did consider taking Sleipnir and leaving some illusions in place while they snuck off, but Freya was likely talented enough that she would be able to see through that. So he merely crouched by his child's bassinet and tried to ignore Ginnarr's barbs.

"What will you do when he takes other lovers?" challenged the old man.

Freya had told Loki Ginnarr had more than a few others. Some had even been waiting in Asgard, when Ginnarr had first brought her over from Vanaheim. Loki had felt sorry and angry for her. If Thor had had lovers waiting here for him, he might have actually tried to kill them. 

"At some point Thor must be wed," Ginnarr said.

Loki traced Sleipnir's curled-up little fist with a finger and pretended he didn't hear. This was a common topic of conversation around Asgard: who the prince would marry now that his betrothed was dead. Sometimes one or two gossipy warriors would jokingly mention the pregnant whore Thor was said to have become infatuated with on Jotunheim, the very last creature anyone thought the prince ought to seriously consider.

Sometimes Loki set venomous snakes on gossipy warriors, and got himself kicked out of the training barracks until the Valkyries decided he'd calmed down enough to behave himself.

"Thor will need a more measured, more intelligent bride than you," Ginnarr said now, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Better-born, too—"

"Ginnarr," Freya said, in a warning tone. 

"—not to mention more devoted to him. You, you have cheerfully encouraged all kinds of attentions, and I never see you keeping up with news of his victories in the papers. Indeed, it is like you scarcely care for him at all—"

"I care for him," Loki bit out.

He would not have anyone doubt his affection for Thor. He would not permit that.

"That seems to do him little good," Ginnarr fired back. "What do you have to offer him? Do you have a kingdom? An army? Great coffers or splendid treasure? Thor could have a thousand of the finest princesses competing for his hand. He's wooed them all in his time, you know. He is not simply the most powerful of Odin's sons, the heir, but the greatest lover, the greatest prize any royal might seek for marriage. A gifted, glorious boy—"

"And one who wants _me_!" Loki hissed now, unable to help himself. "Not a thousand of the finest princesses! Me!"

"He will forget you on Jotunheim," Ginnarr said, dismissive. "With so many proper warriors about, not to mention larger and better-looking giants."

"He will not!" Loki cried. He sprang to his feet now. Now he could not even tell why they were talking of this. There was a war on. They should be thinking of how to help Thor settle it, not where he chose to put his magnificent cock. If he chose to put anywhere other than in Loki, though, they would have to have words. Loki would have to track him down and make him see sense. 

_What does it matter if I am not your equal?_ his mind shrieked. _I will not settle for us being apart, not a moment longer._

Where should that little stone of Heimdall's settle itself? By Thor. At Thor's side. Not here, foolishly tracing out protective runes that could not help them. On Jotunheim, where he might convince Thor that, whatever he had lied about, whoever he really _was_ , Thor was right to love him so stupidly.

"You will look after Sleipnir, won't you?" Loki said, whirling on Freya now. Though her eyebrows climbed, she nodded. Of course she would look after him. She loved the baby as her own, loved him better and with more practice and care than Loki could ever seem to manage. Loki bent down and gave his child a kiss on the brow, ignoring the pain that squeezed the breath from his lungs, and then stood and rushed past Ginnarr to the stair.

"Where are you going?" Ginnarr demanded. "I am not done with you, boy—"

 _To Jotunheim,_ Loki thought wildly. _To my realm._

To come out with it, with what he was. Fallen prince. Duplicitous whore. Growing mage and failing mother, shattered in a thousand ways and yet still wholly Thor's, if Thor would have him. If Thor did not hate him for his lies. 

He pulled out the sturdiest cloaks he could find, bundled his knives in them, not only the one Thor had gifted him but equally well-crafted ones given to him by Freya. He found his best pair of boots. He magicked up a little silver ball to charm Fenris, then went down to get his wolf. On the stair landing he heard Ginnarr and Freya talking low, possibly arguing, but was pleased to see, through the billowing curtains that blocked his vision of the sunroom, his teacher's shadow grasping the baby as though she refused to let Sleipnir go.

Asgard was a bustling metropolis, the heart and head of the nine realms, and so perhaps he didn't cut such a strange figure, bounding through the streets on a wolf. But he did receive more than a few odd glances, and when Fenris upset a cart of golden apples, a very irate woman chased them for nearly four street blocks. Loki paid her no mind, too busy trying desperately not to think of how, after this, he might not see Sleipnir for some time. He might not see Sleipnir ever. 

_Forgive me,_ he thought. _Please, Sleipnir._

At the far end of the city, the rainbow bridge stretched all the way to the observatory.

Heimdall and Jarnsaxa were both waiting there for him, the former taking hold of the great Bifrost sword, the latter sweating in her natural blue skin.

"Don't say you saw me coming," Loki snapped at Heimdall, as he dismounted from his wolf.

"You ruin all my fun, Prince Loki," said Heimdall mildly.

Jarnsaxa did not seem as shocked to see him called by his name as Loki would have liked, but then she had spent a lifetime successfully unruffled by his worst muddles. She came forward and began rearranging his cloak.

"This will be far too warm, duck, when you are home and properly yourself again."

This reminded Loki that perhaps he should switch forms now, before he arrived on Jotunheim and froze his fingertips off in this Aesir skin. But Heimdall opened the Bifrost before he could do so. The rush of heat and light was more bearable than before, but when he fell to his knees in the snow, Fenris howling by his ear, he regretted not changing forms sooner. Before he changed there was an instant of such terrible cold that he could scarcely understand how Thor had borne Jotunheim for months. 

There were also distant shouts, the howl of freezing winds, the stench of blood, and the crackle of lightning. Loki found his eyes drawn to that last element like he was under some sort of spell.

"Thor," he managed. Heimdall and Jarnsaxa helped him up, out of the snow, before three large blue forms materialized out of the chaos around them.

"Have you come to beat back the Aesir who would take our valley?" demanded one, glancing in confusion from Loki to Jarnsaxa. Then her eyes settled on Heimdall. "Or are you traitors?"

"I am no traitor," Loki said, though this was, possibly, a lie, for he had not exactly had Jotunheim's best interests in mind. For a prince, that was a betrayal of his realm.

"I am the one who was Loptr," he said nevertheless, "the one who was stripped of his name and banished by Laufey. I seek your aid, countrymen. And I seek—"

Here he swallowed hard, and pointed at the devastation Thor was wreaking on the valley below.

"—I seek my intended, Prince Thor."


	27. Chapter 27

The battle of Hailstone Valley had raged for nearly a week, not against Laufey's priests but against Jotnar rebels fiercely determined to defend their homes from their king and the Aesir alike. So it was something of a surprise to see, after the rebels had routed Laufey's forces and begun to focus their energies on the Aesir, a small white flag unfurl from their settlement. It looked wan in the pale violet light.

"We cannot have worn them down," Sif said. She, like Thor, had fought relentlessly. She, like Thor, was caked in the freezing wet mush of snow and storm that made up the battlefield. Despite this, neither of them had fallen. Like all the Aesir, they had better magic than their opponents, and their own share of physical strength despite the giants' larger sizes. But they did not have the conviction the giants had. They were not fighting for their homes, merely to take control of the homes of others. Though Thor had felled a fair number here in Hailstone Valley, it was never without regret and a powerful sense of something he worried might be dishonor, buzzing about in his mind like a swarm of flies.

So it was a relief to see the white flag, no matter how unlikely the flag seemed. Yet they did not advance to meet the small giant band that crossed the wet mud of Hailstone Valley, for before there could be true parley Asgard's commanders and higher mages would have to meet to discuss the possibility of trickery, to cast protective spells and divine portents. To send spying ravens to perch on the white tent the Jotnar peace-band erected underneath their flag. 

Thor, for his part, found himself arguing to simply trust the Hailstone giants already. Not for any sensible reason. More because he was so tired and so grim that he made Hogun seem cheerful by comparison. He was ready to be done with Hailstone Valley. And if it was a trick, then the Aesir would right things eventually. Though this war was brutal and wrong, it had to be said that the Aesir remained very, very good at waging it.

His frank eagerness to rush this momentary peace should have exempted him from the parley. Certainly it made more sense to send Brunnhilde and her maidens, for only the Valkyries were trained in negotiating peace terms to Odin's satisfaction, which was to say: they were trained to accept only total surrender. Yet when a missive came from the Jotnar, borne in the mouth of a trained goat, it requested the presence of the crown prince of Asgard.

This caused some uproar in the Aesir tent. Sif and the Warriors Three were now wholly convinced it was a trick. Hodur and Tyr argued that it might merely be a bold and stupid play on the giants' part to avoid dealing with the Valkyries. Brunnhilde insisted that it didn't matter, as either way they could not possibly send Thor. Throughout this Thor sat off to the side with the goat, relieved that Hela was not here, for she was currently devastating an entirely different valley. The goat bleated at him and trotted to the great oblong war-table in the center of the tent, where, unbeknownst to the others, it seized back its missive. This it chewed several times, rendering the words illegible and the parchment soggy. Then it brought the missive over to Thor. Thor massaged his temples, once, and began to tug what was left from the goat's mouth.

This served little purpose. He had never been sent to parley a thing in his life, being known more for the might of his hammer than his clever skills at negotiation. And the parchment could not be deciphered now. Thor could make out a few words, 'alliance' being a somewhat startling one, but aside from that, nothing. Nothing save that little mark at the bottom, once he pulled it from the goat's mouth. That curving, familiar inscription, with its little forked tongue.

He felt his heart stutter. 

It _couldn't_ be. 

When he'd stood and dimly batted his way out of the tent, he heard Fandral calling after him, his friend newly-recovered and back on Jotunheim just in time to chastise Thor for ill-thought-out actions. And indeed, he had not made it more than forty feet into the snow before Fandral was at his heels. Brunnhilde, too. It seemed the others were still arguing with his half-brothers.

"What are you doing?" Brunnhilde demanded, as Thor stomped through the dirty snow and slush. Thunder crackled over them. Not because he was angry. Simply because he felt electric and alive, possibly for the first time in months.

"This is madness!" Brunnhilde cried out again. "You cannot simply go to them! You will throw off all our advantage!"

"Such madness as this can only have one cause!" Fandral shouted into the howling winds. "Love! I will wager my best gloves Thor has some knowledge we do not, knowledge of his sweet Blueskin!"

This was so, but they probably could not catch Thor's nod, for the sleet was falling thick. They fell into bickering and fighting behind him, Brunnhilde moving repeatedly to immobilize Thor and drag him back to camp, and Fandral bravely doing his best to keep the Valkyrie from having her way. Thor only half-noticed this. Through the great gusts of snow and wet, he could see the Jotnar tent flap drawn back. But whoever was doing this was no giant. Thor squinted into the gloom and storm, and then gave a roar. 

"Heimdall?"

It was he, the watchman's calm presence enough to strike both Fandral and Brunnhilde silent. Thor now bounded through the snow with renewed energy, his hope brighter than ever, for Heimdall was ever a good sign, a promise that things would improve.

But in the dull blue tent interior, it was not Heimdall his eyes were drawn to, nor was it the ten or twelve assembled Jotnar who all squawked to see Thor blunder in. 

A much smaller giant sat among them, lounging with his legs up and then hurriedly putting them down, drawing into himself almost nervously when he saw Thor. Why he should be nervous, Thor could not tell. He was never nervous, the impossible brat. He should not be nervous. Not his Blueskin. 

No. His Loki. Now, more than ever, his own name seemed right. This was not a pretty bedwarmer someone had trussed up and offered Thor, not a cowering whore, not even an impertinent little tease in the bedroll next to his. This was a quiet, internal young giant, on the cusp of manhood, hale and leanly muscled as Thor had never seen him. His lovely red eyes were bright and his markings were stark against his vivid blue skin. Thor wanted to trace those markings, press kisses to them. He could dimly remember that once he'd assumed giants were grotesque, that these ridges had to be hideous. Now he found he could not stop admiring them. 

But then perhaps Thor would like his Blueskin, his Loki, if Loki came with scales and dino tusks and massive oversized pincers like an Ironwood beetle.

Distantly, he heard the giants around him talking hurriedly, Brunnhilde firing back. Talk of parley and potential treaty, of betrothals and of the significance of Loki's lines. Thor found it very difficult to pay attention to this. He watched Loki stand, make a start towards him, and then draw closer to Jarnsaxa, who materialized out of the recesses of the tent behind him. Thor would have been pleased to see her at any other time. He'd asked her here to help him find a way to make alliances among the rebel Jotnar who might not support Laufey, and so she could not have arrived at a better moment. But it wasn't Jarnsaxa he wanted to draw into his arms right now.

Thor crossed the space between them with four sure steps. Loki went wide-eyed at this, as though by this simple act Thor was doing something miraculous.

"Prince Thor," he said, though he'd never before bothered to use Thor's title. His voice cut through the chatter, ushered in total silence in its wake. 

"Yes," Thor said calmly. He reached out and took Loki's hand. Loki let him, but not without swallowing hard enough that his blue throat bobbed.

"I have to tell you something," Loki said, as Thor worried his fingers, delighting at their coolness. "I have not been truthful with you."

_No, you haven't,_ Thor thought wryly. 

But his anger over being tricked had only ever seemed to ebb and flow, a mercurial thing that certainly could not compete with his joy at seeing Loki again.

"You must understand," Loki said now, voice going pleading. "When you and I first met, I had disgraced myself. And I could not bear to have you think poorly of me, to have you know what I had become."

He flushed purple. Hurriedly, the giants around them began to talk of all manner of nonsense Thor could not parse, offering Fandral a seat and Brunnhilde a fizzy ale, remarking on the weather and the state of the crops this season, as though they did not wish to make this moment more mortifying than necessary for Loki.

"I was the lowest of creatures," Loki forced out, as Jarnsaxa passed a soothing hand over his shoulder. "Spreading my legs for coin. Perhaps for you there is no shame in it, but this is Jotunheim. Here it is base and unbecoming, disgusting, to behave as I have with you —"

"Loki," Thor said, shaking his head. "Nothing about you is base, unbecoming, or disgusting."

Again Loki flushed, but this time there was a pleased tint to his expression, pleased and surprised and a bit secretive, as though he meant to take Thor saying this and store it away in some private place.

Then he frowned.

"What did you call me?"

Thor felt a prickle of panic. Just a prickle. But it was enough.

"Blueskin," he said hastily. He could have kicked himself. "Obviously. My Blueskin. Did I say my? I have been meaning to correct that. Seems a bit, er, presumptive. Really, you're _your_ Blueskin—"

Loki exhaled hard, his expression becoming wild. Then he actually shoved Thor aside, a task accomplished only because he had the element of surprise, the brat, and shrieked at Heimdall.

" _How long has he_ known _?_ "

-

They were both of them Odinsons, princes of the line of Bor. Never mind that for many months Thor hadn't known this — it was so. It did not matter where they had been born, or where they had been raised, or what customs they each clung to. Their innate royalty was so great that all across the Nine skalds would be quick to say that decorum and honor must blaze within them like flame on the battlefield, grand and awe-inspiring.

And yet they still had a loud, highly unbecoming argument, right there, right in front of Fandral and Brunnhilde and Heimdall and Jarnsaxa, and ten or twelve embarrassed, puzzled Jotnar.

"You — you were making me do those stupid tests!" Loki realized, stamping his foot. "All these months! Because you knew who I was!"

"That was not nearly as great a lie as your lies!" Thor pointed out. "You concealed your identity from me. For just as many months!"

"You concealed that my identity was no longer concealed!" said Loki, voice rising to a shriek. 

"Had I any cause to do otherwise?" Thor demanded. Though the whole thing had been Odin's idea, he could not understand why Loki insisted on clinging to a higher ground he had no right to occupy. If Loki had not been an impudent, frightened child about all of this, they could have resolved it all neatly. Thor could have wooed him from the moment he'd met him. All could have been well. What cause did Loki have, to look at Thor with such high color in his cheeks and such irate betrayal in his eyes?

"You tricked me into believing I was to be little more than your toy," Loki spat. "You made me _agree_ —"

"It was the only way to be certain my father would not punish your lies by forbidding our marriage!" Thor said. "You would hold that against me?”

"You treated me like a whore, even as you said you would not!" Loki said. If the nervous fluttering of his fingers and wet lashes prompted some shame in Thor, Thor quashed it relentlessly.

"Do not make this my fault!" he told Loki firmly. "None of this would have happened had you told the truth from the start—"

Loki looked about wildly at their shocked audience, as though anxious to find some other barb to fling his way.

"You fight my people!" he hissed. "For no reason, though you have known I was alive this whole time—"

As though this, too, was not something Thor was doing to be with him, to be permitted the chance of him. And as though Thor had not punished himself for this, for his own forced obedience to Odin's cruelty. 

"I fight to do away with Laufey and his sons, to punish those who harmed you!" he cried now, fully enraged.

"Do not talk to me of my harm!" Loki said, stamping his foot. "It is my harm, not yours to worry about—"

" _Whosoever would hurt you shall feel my hammer, and that is that_!" Thor roared now, and now his anger was such a heedless, bruising thing that the tent shook with the gales from the storm outside.

Perhaps, then, it was for the best that the rest of the Aesir chose this moment to descend on them. For several long minutes chaos reigned, as Hodur and Tyr, Sif and Hogun, Volstagg and entirely far too many Valkyries, fell upon the tent party with battle cries. The tent collapsed about them, or was cleaved to pieces by blades. Snow and thundering rain froze and burned everyone simultaneously, shouts rang out, and wild shrieks of rebellion from the Jotnar, until Thor gave another brutal roar, this time at the advancing Aesir. They fell back, even his brothers, with confused looks at him. The Jotnar, too, fell back, looking wounded.

"You attack us after we offered peace?" said one, sounding almost petulant. 

"You stole our crown prince!" roared Tyr, who was always making situations like this worse. Thor stepped in hastily to correct him.

"I came here myself. Now get me a tent. A private one. I must have some words with my betrothed."

Shock fluttered onto the new arrivals' faces. Thor felt, for a moment, perversely pleased to produce such a reaction. He had been at sea these past few months, dancing to his father's whims, believing this would permit, eventually, a reunion with Loki. But they were reunited, however aggravating Loki was being. And now Thor could do as he pleased, even if in this some small way.

It pleased him to tear apart this cobweb of lies his father and Loki and even Thor himself, damn him, had painstakingly spun. Thor had no idea if his father had restored Loki to his rightful status yet. He found that he did not care, either. What was right was right, and it was right to give this maddening, deceitful, beloved little creature his due.

"This is the giants' rightful king," Thor found himself declaring, with a sweep of his hammer in Loki's direction. Loki stepped back, as if shocked. Thor kept speaking.

"The true prince of Jotunheim and my intended bride, tested and proven right for me, the one I am promised to in turn, who shall have me if he indeed wants me. Lop—"

Loki's voice cut in, almost faint, as if he was startling even himself by speaking.

"Loki," he said quickly. "I would be known as—as Loki."

-

They were given a private place, but not a tent. Instead the Jotnar led them into their town and offered them a room in its great central brewery, for it transpired that Hailstone's rebel commander was Illi. Not Old Illi of the fizzy ale fame, but Young Illi, Old Illi's great-grandson. Though these giants were prosperous and erudite, having enjoyed great fortune for generations thanks to the ale fortune, they were none of them any more enamored of Laufey than they were of the Aesir. Before Laufey, Young Illi explained, fizzy ale had been permitted to be alcoholic.

"And a great blow to my old Nan's memory that we now have to peddle temple-approved swill," he growled. "It was a hope of ours that Our Loki might take the throne someday and lift the restrictions. To see you hale and well, child, is a boon to us."

And he gestured vaguely at a series of patriotic images tacked to a noticeboard in the brewery's main office: the great Ymir wreathed by snowflakes, the sacred goat of Jotunheim poised upon an iceberg, and a very small, very familiar image. It took Thor a moment to realize where he had seen it before. It was the same holograph Farbauti had once sent Odin of a very young Loki, with just the same markings as this Loki before them, but a great deal younger and paler. 

Thor found himself fascinated by this. It had not occurred to him that Loki might be well-known across the realm. Judging by the shocked violet tint to Loki's cheeks, it had not occurred to Loki, either. And likely going so long without his markings, and with his belly swollen, had given him a measure of anonymity among the general populace, anyway. But still Young Illi beamed at him for a moment, before turning and eyeballing Thor.

"Any dishonor done to Our Loki is dishonor done to all Jotunheim," he warned, and then swept out of the room, leaving Thor alone with the noticeboard; with so many boxes of large green-glass bottles, glittering in the purple light; with a great messy desk full of papers; and with Loki.

Loki who looked at him almost skittishly, carefully now.

"I suppose we both have reasons to be angry," he allowed.

Thor was suddenly grateful that, between the two of them, Loki was the young one. Were they both young, were Thor closer to the stripling he'd been at Loki's age, prone to nursing his wounds whenever he pleased, then there would be no coming back from the slights and deceptions they had served each other. Though he still liked to cling to his pride and his rage, now he knew such emotions were best kept at a distance, particularly when there was also love to contend with.

"Does father know you're here?" he asked Loki, keeping his tone gentle to show he did not particularly care what the answer was, he was only trying to understand where they stood.

Loki stiffened.

"I imagine not," he said. "Why would he? It's not as if he ever bothered with me. Months I spent on Asgard, and he never once—"

But something in Thor's expression must have given it away. Loki's mouth fell open mid-sentence.

" _Ginarr?_ " he shrieked, voice rising so rapidly and completely that it was a wonder the green-glass bottles didn't shatter. "He's horrible! I hope he knows nothing! I shall never tell him anything! I hate him—"

This blatant disrespect towards the Allfather should be stopped, Thor knew. Should be corrected at once, for the sake of all Asgard, for the sake of everything Thor had ever been taught. And yet, as he tossed his hammer, thinking it over, he discovered absolutely no desire in him to chastise.

"That makes sense," he offered instead, cutting off Loki's tirade. Loki blinked at this and seemed somehow more caught out by it than if Thor _had_ chastised him. He nodded, then subsided. Thor wondered if it would ruin this fragile calm of Loki's to reach for him, but found he could not help himself. Loki stumbled into him. He held on, arms winding about Thor's neck. Thor was pleased at how firm and real he felt in his arms. For some reason, until this moment, he'd supposed Loki might disappear, and with him this gentle possibility between them. 

"Love," Thor told him. It seemed the right name for him. A better name than Blueskin, for sure.

Thor's reward was a kiss, Loki surging against him, opening up for him. Something hungry uncurled itself inside Thor, tossing back its mane and giving its great jaw a lick. Thor so liked this pretty, lying little mouth that he was consumed by it for many long moments, kissing and nipping it, hearing Loki's urgent gasps and feeling pleased that he could still cause those. Loki's eyes were blown when he batted frantically at Thor, breaking the kiss for a second.

"Thor," he managed. "Thor, I am...sorry. For my lies. For this war."

Thor growled at this. He could not help it.

"This war is on my head," he said, though the words were difficult to get out. "I permitted father to play me. And I failed in finding out who you were—"

This, of all things, made Loki roll his eyes and shove him off.

"Because I tricked you!" 

Thor supposed this was correct, and in any case he was eager to get back to the kissing.

"That's right," he said. "You are a callow, honorless creature, little brother. Now come here so I can make love to you properly."

Loki did not, ever determined to be contrary and frustrating. Instead he stood there in the purple light, looking surprised again.

"I suppose we _are_ brothers," he said, after a few moments, as though he'd forgotten the fact. Thor groaned internally. The term had slipped off of his tongue, almost like it had been daring him, for in truth it was a new and deliciously illicit way to name the depths of his feeling for Loki. But Loki was of course a Jotunn—he would see impropriety where Thor saw teasing, furtive affection. 

Thor leaned against the massive desk, built for a giant of sixteen feet at least, and massaged his temples, thinking it over.

"You are my brother," he said. "A prince in your own right. For this alone, it was foolish of me to never try to know you. Foolish to never explain to you that you do not need to be any more than that to me, to be worthy of my time, attention, and care. And yet for all that you _are_ more to me—"

Loki cut him off with a kiss. This was more urgent yet than the previous kisses, finally Loki matching him for hunger. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, as if he were eager to find new, hidden places of Thor he could capture for himself. When his touch glanced a ticklish place behind Thor's ear, Thor laughed and gathered those long-fingered hands up, bringing them to his lips to press his mouth to them.

"Easy, brat. There will be time," he promised Loki.

"Will there be?" Loki demanded.

A fair question, for Odin was likely to be furious with at least one of them for Loki returning to Jotunheim, and there was a war on. And there were a million more questions to tackle besides — where the babe was, and whether Loki could survive a battlefield, and how to grow this fragile peace with the giants of Hailstone Valley. These things mattered. Yet it mattered, too, to have this.

Thor took the thin blue face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. 

"I was promised to you, brother, though I did not know it. It seemed a dire fate when I first learned of it. But now nothing will keep me from you, of that I swear."

He cracked a grin.

"I intend to do my duty by you, my betrothed."

Then he hefted Loki into his arms properly. It was a challenge to get them onto the desk, high as it was, but Thor was not the sort to balk at challenges, and now they were as one mind, in any case. Once they were there it was easy enough to brush aside the mountain of invoices and other papers and spread out his cloak. Then Loki was on him again. Though it was too cold for Thor to disrobe fully, too cold to do more than struggle with the laces of his trousers, Loki stripped himself of his tunic and undershirt with no worry for the temperature. Thor spread his fingers out along the slender blue chest and felt his exhalations. Loki, meanwhile, grappled with what he could reach of Thor's underthings.

"I want you in me. I've been dreaming of it," he said, clipped and to the point. When he freed Thor's prick his red eyes shone with a new depth, or perhaps with some defiance. Thor helped him divest himself of his leggings, get himself fully bare, for it seemed like Loki could not do this quickly enough. Then Thor had a lapful of him. His lean blue muscle, stiff prick already unsheathed, and the wet little cleft of his pretty cunt. Thor's cock, already half-hard, went fully rigid at the sight. 

Loki ground himself down on it in answer. This nearly seemed too glorious, too brazen for Thor's bashful, shamed little Blueskin. Thor had to fight to keep from locking his hands on Loki's hips and forcing them even closer together yet.

"You want this?" he asked Loki.

"I told you," Loki said, still breathing hard. "I dreamed it."

Then he was clumsily trying to line them up, the slick of his cunt catching and leaving the tip of Thor's cock shining. Thor suppressed a groan at the soft, wet feel of those pretty lips. He caught hold of Loki's hips then. But it was Loki who pushed himself down, sheathing himself on the first few inches of Thor's cock. He gave a little cry and then seemed unable to go further, panting, his eyes closed. 

Thor traced little circles on his hips and whispered kind assurances to him, whatever he could come up with. Loki was tight around him, and it took effort not to fuck into him fully. But Thor held back, instead swiping a finger through the wet, twitching rim around his cock and using that to slick up Loki's own prick. 

Loki gave a ragged noise. With his hands still on Thor's shoulders, he pushed himself down a bit further and then lifted himself off, the movements unpracticed but effective. It seemed that, clumsy as this was, even this was all they needed to feel good together. Thor guided him in earnest, supporting Loki as he fucked himself. When Loki bottomed out and clenched around the full length of his cock it was sweeter by far than it had ever been with many more expert partners Thor had had.

And now Loki's eyes fluttered open. He snuck a hand down to his belly, where a small, distinct bulge showed the outline of Thor's cock. The sight made something in Thor _rear_ , left his appetites cresting. He'd spoken of duty, but there was no duty in this, just frank want. Loki seemed made for him, or perhaps they were made for each other. But no. Better not to talk of _made_. The truth was, for all their troubles, Thor was lucky, deeply lucky to be the one to drive up into the pretty wet core of Loki, to fill him up, to have that privilege.

"I dreamed it as well," Thor managed, for the words, the naked selfish desire, seemed to stumble out of him. Loki was taking him in so well, moving on him, long blue cock drooling between them with the friction of his own movements.

"Good," Loki answered. His voice was breathy and indistinct, but he repeated it. "Because I'm yours. _Yours_ , Thor."

This was nearly enough to put Thor over, but that he wanted to prolong this sensation. He wanted to fuck Loki until the little giant was coming apart on his cock, sated and pleasured as he never had been. Thor offered kisses to his chest, now flat but still enticing, and managed to press him back. Their positions reversed now. Loki gave a gasp but didn't stop fucking him, fucking up now to meet him as Thor pushed into him from above. From this angle it was easy to find the spongy place inside him that made Loki scream, and soon enough Loki was coming twice-over, cunt drenched and cock painting his blue stomach white. Thor held him as he shuddered through it. 

"Can I fill you up, love?" Thor said then, into his hair. "Will you do me that honor?"

Loki nodded, so Thor drove into him. Loki's hands clasped his rear, greedily driving _him_. As Thor came he said, determined and definite, "Fill me up, Thor. Fill me up."

**Author's Note:**

> I was clearly very optimistic about being able to regular updates. I cannot provide that anymore. This will be updating more like your usual WiP, i.e. whenever I can. :o Hopefully people are still enjoying it, though. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated, if you're inclined to leave them! <3


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